


Haven't I Killed You Before?

by usherrthaaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Tension, Deathly Hallows AU, Drabble Sequence, Draco is kinda cool, Eventual Smut, Everyone is tired, F/M, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, War, badass Hermione, the war is long, what is winning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 18:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 84,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usherrthaaa/pseuds/usherrthaaa
Summary: "Granger?"Fuck's sake..."Malfoy," she gasps out, hand leaving her wand to clutch at her chest. "Go back to being dead.""Can't," he wheezes. "You saved me."She winces at that. "I suppose I did."Follow Hermione Granger as she struggles to survive the Second Wizarding War of Britain, willingly attacks a werewolf, resurrects an enemy and constantly runs into Draco fucking Malfoy.





	1. A Series of Unfortunate Happenstance

**Author's Note:**

> just so you know, they're linear drabbles, they follow up after each other. But some skip over chunks of time and others follow immediately after the previous one. I'll try to make it clear.

 

The hallway is quiet apart from a steady dripping from the floors above; a busted conduit of water releasing its contents off the third floor and down the now unmoving stairs. The dark water drips steadily onto the ground of the corridor Hermione is crouching in and pools at her feet.   
  
It's dark.  
  
And cold. Ugh. She shivers as she skips over yet another puddle of murky water and waves her wand to rekindle the Lumos charm. The wan light flickers almost in protest before growing stronger.   
  
"Stupid light," she mutters absently, missing a beat as the charm stutters again.  
  
The hallway is plunged into sudden darkness for a split second and her foot lands straight in ankle deep water; the cold rushing over the mouth of her boots to pool between her toes.  
  
"Ah! Stupid water," she exclaims in quiet aggression; leaping away from the offending puddle, only to land in yet another and another.  
  
The continuous splashing of her feet echoes noisily in the hallway and Hermione curses again.  
  
"Stupid war, stupid Death Eaters," she mumbles. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_."  
  
" _Merlin_ , woman, are you _trying_ to get killed?"  
  
Hermione yelps in shock, spinning around with her wand clenched tightly in her palm, only to illuminate a familiar pallid face she hasn't had the misfortune of seeing in over a year.  
  
"Malfoy? What the-," she chokes out, clutching her chest in casual shock, before remembering herself and stammering out a hasty _Petrificus Totalus_.  
  
The look of dry disbelief Malfoy throws her way is so cutting that she actually winces. Her spell bounces off the shield he's conjured and they both watch it deflect against the wall.   
  
The water keeps steadily dripping somewhere behind them both and without Hermione's Lumos charm there is only darkness around them.  
  
She waits, in the near silence, and hears Malfoy wait with her. His breathing is strangely steady, compared to her rabbit heartbeat, but she figures it because he had the opportunity to tail her this far and she was the one who'd been surprised.   
  
That isn't good- she'd let her guard down. That or Malfoy was an eerily quiet stalker. It's not entirely her fault to be honest because everyone thinks he's dead. The silence is uncomfortable now. Some part of her is aware that this isn't how many of her battles usually go. She roots around inside herself for some battle reflex but somehow comes up short.  
  
"Well," Hermione starts, rolling her wand in her hands. "Um, I did the petrifying thing."  
  
Malfoy scoffs in the dark. Familiar and out of place. "So?"  
  
"It's your move? You can," she offers, shifting in place. "You can try a Crucio or something."   
  
She isn't sure why she's _talking_ to him.  
  
"I genuinely cannot for the _life_ of me generate enough fucks to do any such thing," Malfoy sighs long-sufferingly.  
  
"Well," she mutters, rolling her eyes at the statement. "You can just say no."  
  
"Didn't I?"   
  
"In so many words."   
  
"I felt the situation called for it."  
  
"Okay," Hermione sighs. This was getting too odd. "Well. I'm going to go on ahead. Bye."   
  
Shaking her head, the witch turns slowly to leave. The strangeness of the moment drowns under the weight of her weariness, barely noted. Pushing the interaction away, Hermione mutters a quick Lumos and hopes that no one else is inside the corridors as well.  
  
Clenching her wand again, she tries to reduce the squelching her damp boots make by walking with extreme care. Knees bent and arms out for balance, she avoids the next three puddles with ease and manages to reduce the squelching to squeaks. A sudden swish of air behind her makes her pause, and then Malfoy is there again, quiet and pale.  
  
"So what's the plan? Making yourself a target are we? Human bait?" he asks, with very little disdain.  
  
"No," Hermione retorts quietly, shooting a glare in his direction. "Why are you here?"  
  
"Why are you making so much noise?"   
  
"I'm _trying_ not to," Hermione snaps, pointing down at her extra careful steps.   
  
"You look utterly ridiculous," Malfoy states, stopping in his tracks to raise a brow down at her. "Though that's nothing new."  
  
"Nice to see the death toll has brought your sense of humor out," Hermione bites, taking a big normal step and cringing at the squelch her shoes make.  
  
Malfoy squirms too. He looks around them, waving the tip of his wand with a wordless Lumos.  
  
"You're very loud," he says.  
  
"And you have no reason to still be here," Hermione points out, stabbing towards him with her wand.   
  
"I'm heading in the same direction," Malfoy shrugs and she knows its a lie.  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
"Maybe I am," he counters.  
  
"Maybe? What kind of s-,"  
  
"You're doing a splendid job of not being a human target you know," Malfoy grits out through clenched teeth, storming ahead of her suddenly with a swish of robes.  
  
His wand light dims to nothing just as a shout echoes in the corridor before them.   
  
Everything happens in a split second.  
  
Hermione darts around Malfoy's frame to see a flash of bright red hurtle their way. They jump apart, allowing the curse to pass by with a hairsbreadth to spare, and then Malfoy is grabbing her wand and thrusting it in front of them, his mouth moving silently.  
  
The red spell flares up once more but the _Incendio_ Malfoy casts hits its mark faster- followed by a hasty Silencing charm.  
  
The figure at the end of the corridor bursts into flames and silent screams, and Hermione wastes no time in snatching her wand back.  
  
"What the _fuck_ was that?" she snaps, pointing her wand at the blonde's throat.  
  
"That? The guy who tried to kill you is now burning," Malfoy snarks, edging away from her.  
  
"You _stole_ my wand!" she snaps, barely remembering not to shriek.  
  
"I merely commandeered it for purposes beneficial to you, woman, _honestly_ -,"  
  
"Don't you have a wand?!"  
  
"Well sue me for not wanting to leave a calling card for killing my own people-,"  
  
"Give me one good reason you shouldn't burn too," Hermione seethes, annoyed at her own confusion.   
  
"Oh now you want to kill me?" he protests. "After I practically save your sorry arse?"  
  
"You... wait, what? Why?" Hermione asks.  
  
"Very coherent Granger. McGonagall must be proud."  
  
"McGonagall is dead. Now tell me what the heck you think you're doing!"  
  
Malfoy narrows his eyes at her. "Literally just killed the guy trying to kill you, Granger."  
  
"No, he tried to kill the both of us."  
  
"I'm pretty sure no one on my side wants to kill me right now."  
  
The witch scowls at that, wand wavering. Malfoy senses her hesitation and lifts a hand, slowly knocking the tip of her wand away from his neck with the back of his knuckles.   
  
"I'm going to see who I hit," Malfoy announces, rolling his eyes at her half-hearted protest. "Ten points to me if its Rowle."  
  
He trudges ahead, boots clicking mutedly against the marble floor. Hermione grimaces as he goes, confusion and annoyance welling inside her like a storm. She watches his shiny white hair bob as he avoids the puddles and her grimace turns into a harsh scowl. Her arms return to their leaden state as the adrenaline leaves her system, leaving her whole body tired and weary.   
  
It's like Malfoy himself put it: she cannot, for the life of her, generate the necessary fucks to deal with this situation. So she kicks off her noisy and damp boots one by one, turns on her heel and marches back down the way she came. She walks quickly and quietly and doesn't light her wand. Doesn't stop to realize she isn't breathing- just holding her breath and speed-walking away from the man who is probably crouching over the burned corpse of a death eater and trying to place who it is. She lets her thighs feel the burn of her speedy exit and is ridiculously relieved when she turns through a ruined alcove and sees the chaos of the fight still raging on across the Quidditch field.   
  
She can tell them that her path through the castle was compromised. They wouldn't mind. It isn't like she 's on any big missions anyway.  
  
She turns to apparate down there, the suction of the spell already dragging her in when she hears Malfoy whoop from all the way back inside.  
  
"It's Gibbon! Close enough- I win."  
  


* * *

  
  
She paces the rooftop she's stationed on with barely concealed annoyance. It hadn't been her fault that Ron had mishandled the Greek fire on the last mission. She'd told them to let her take the point. But no. Nobody listens to little old Hermione Granger.   
  
And now they're all stuck with small hit and run missions. She kicks the parapet wall running along the edge of the rooftop and grunts at the pain it causes.   
  
She can't afford to break a toe while on duty. Not when the payload is so close within their reach. They've been tailing the supplies ever since the order went out from the Death-Eater controlled Ministry. She risks a quick glance over the waist-high wall and sure enough, the humble transport truck is stationed right where they'd been told it would be in the brief.  
  
Around her, in the remains of the small town buildings that surround the square, are the rest of her team; hidden away till the signal is seen.   
  
Hermione scuffs her boots against the wall and startles at the noise. Hastily, she backs away from the wall; and even though she is invisible to most, she feels nervous anyway. She hunkers down beside a chunk of an outdoor grill that had been destroyed some time ago in a battle she hadn't been in.  
  
She's never been to this town before. Now, it stands deserted- bare of all humans except for the hidden Order members and the payload's sole courier. It looks reminiscent of an old western film, with the broken brick buildings and the wooden structures that have been splintered apart by the previous battle. She wonders absently whether it had been pretty.   
  
Footsteps from the fire escape alert her to someone's arrival and she hopes to God that its Ron for whatever reason.  
  
It's not.  
  
The figure is far too tall as it comes up the stairwell and far too quiet. Long spindly hands reach for purchase on the wall to haul the person's weight over, and Hermione prepares to blast them off.   
  
But her orders are to be quiet. She can't make any noise to impediment the success of her mission. Any sound could alert the driver of the truck to some suspicious activity, so she cannot risk the body falling backward and through the already creaky fire escape.   
  
The figure straightens and flicks open their cloak. It's a dark affair, double-breasted with dull buttons and far too long to be efficient. She stares dumbly as the figure removes the blurring spell over their face and nearly smacks herself for not Avada'ing him on sight.  
  
Malfoy's brilliantly white head reflects happy rays of sunlight as he crosses over to where _she_ was supposed to be and peers down at the payload. He jauntily flips a golden coin into the air twice and returns it to a breast pocket.  
  
No. Hermione shakes her head. No way. He is not sabotaging this or ruining it or killing them or whatever it was he was here to do.  
  
"Malfoy," she hisses. "MALFOY. Get down! They'll see you."  
  
He startles and ducks down, safely hidden from the others' sight by the parapet wall.   
  
"Granger?" he whispers incredulously.  
  
"You twit," she snaps viciously, scuttling to where he was. "Why are you here?"  
  
"I could ask you the same thing," he frowns, eyes darting around the rooftop, in search of her no doubt.  
  
"No, you cannot. Answer me or I will Imperio you," Hermione grits out. "Are there others?"  
  
His grey eyes flick over to where she crouches beside him, invisible, and then continues with its search to place her.   
  
"It's just me Granger, don't get your panties in a twist," he offers, rolling his eyes. "Where are you? Are you actually here or did I trigger some kind of alert system?"  
  
"Shut up," she grouses. "Tell me you're not here for the-,"  
  
"The golden payload? Why yes I am, love. Medicine and vegetables and fresh linen? Can't let you lot have that, can I?"  
  
His cheeky smirk infuriates her even though he looks dumb talking while facing the wrong direction.   
  
"You said there weren't others!" she growls, inching forward with her hand on her wand.  
  
"And there aren't," Malfoy insists, palms up in front of his chest as he sinks lower against the parapet wall. "Just me. Now, are we going to have a problem?"   
  
"Yes the hell we are, Malfoy!" she snaps in disbelief. "We need those supplies- we've struggled enough for this. If you're not here by snake face's moldy decree then kindly fuck off!"   
  
Malfoy snorts and shakes his head. "Snake face. Real mature, Granger. You're very passionate- I can see the appeal to the likes of Weasley- but I must decline."  
  
"What?" she mutters. "You're going to stop us? _You?"_    
  
"That I am," he says, absently tapping his breast pocket.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"That payload goes through this town to the docks. There's no way you're getting this to Scotland by land so by sea it goes. The only shipping village nearby with a functioning dock is the muggle one down by this very coast and it is far too untouched by the war to be dragged into this, unfortunately."  
  
"And what? You're concerned the poor fishing folk of Cadgwith, Cornwall are going to be marked by our presence, is that it?  
  
"Sure?" he shrugs.  
  
Hermione conjures ropes to bind around Malfoy's frame, coiling tight around him to his surprise.  
  
"Wait, Granger-,"  
  
"No, you shut up. There is no way that you're sabotaging this for me. No. Way." Hermione hisses vehemently. "Those supplies will go to the injured and hungry who really deserve it. People who fought for what is right-,"  
  
"Granger, enough. I know this tirade-I've heard it a dozen times from you and Potter and every bleeding-heart Gryffindor that's tried to kill me. Get rid of the bonds. Now. Time is running."  
  
His eyes dart across the rooftop, still trying to place her.  
  
"Time's up for you I guess," she shrugs, before rising to her feet.   
  
A light flashes from the clocktower in the town square, and Hermione peers over the edge of the wall to spot the poor sod paid to transport the payload to the Ministry.   
  
She hopes she's the one to detain him. She has her hand on the parapet wall, ready to leap over soundlessly when she hears Malfoy shuffle.  
  
"What-," she begins, turning to face where the blonde sits.  
  
"Sorry, Granger. But this town isn't big enough for the both of us," he says, clearly proud of the tacky, Muggle line.  
  
His voice is followed by the loud pop of apparition- familiar and unnecessarily loud.  
  
Beside her, the ropes sag to the ground and when she turns back to the payload, she spots Malfoy standing on top of the vehicle.   
  
"You absolute prick!" she mutters angrily, before vaulting over the wall, wand slashing.   
  
She aims four Stuns at his head before dropping her attack to cushion her fall. Ron is shouting crazily from the balcony across the square, and even the courier has his wand out.   
  
All wands point to Malfoy and by the sounds of distress coming from the entire effort, Hermione's educated guess is that nothing has yet to hit him.   
  
"Get off the payload Malfoy," she urges angrily, firing wildly. "You're literally surrounded!"  
  
"What in the bleeding hell is going on?" Ron exclaims, his barrage of spells pausing for a brief second. "The courier! He's off! He is heading right...Sadie! My right- _Sadie_ tail him!"  
  
The skinny man hears the command and bolts down the street, firing blindly over his shoulder.   
  
On top of the payload, Malfoy has set up a strange ward around the whole vehicle. Their attacks bounce off harmlessly and he crouches to start blazing a hole through the top of the driving compartment.   
  
"You've got to be kidding me," Hermione grits out, darting towards the stationary truck the second his back is turned.   
  
Ahead of the payload, the rest of her team press on despite the confusion. Ron manages to duck close, blasting the vehicle enough to make it rock.  
  
"Don't destroy the truck!" Hermione hears Padma chastise loudly. "Ron calm down! We can't set it on fire!"  
  
Everything is going to shit.  
  
Malfoy glances up, pausing in his laborious efforts of breaking in. He mutters something and flicks his wrist and the magic shielding him pushes outward. Hermione has just enough reflex in her to drop and roll under the vehicle, watching through the space as the exploding barrier knocks Ron and Padma clear off their feet and back into the buildings they came from.  
  
Wasting no time she rolls back out and reaches for the door closest to her, throwing herself into the driver's seat just as Malfoy drops into the one next to her from above.   
  
"Ah!" he exclaims when he tries to get behind the wheel and crashes into her solid form. "What the fuck?"  
  
" _Pretificus_ _Totalus_!" Hermione snaps, aiming her wand at his head, but the second her wand flares Malfoy throws a punch that luckily hits her arm, knocking the spell up through the roof of the vehicle.  
  
"Granger?" Malfoy says in askance. "Morgana's tits woman, why are you everywhere?"   
  
"Get out of the car, Malfoy."  
  
"I think not," he says haughtily, and Hermione gives up her wand to punch him in the face.  
  
Outside, Ron throws a strong _Redcto_ at the side of the vehicle that thankfully misses the driver's door and only blows the top of the hood clean off.   
  
"I'm inside, dammit!" Hermione tries to shout at him, but Malfoy has his wand out so she jerks around.  
  
" _Expelliarmus_ ," she gushes so fast that even she's surprised when the spell works and his wand snaps towards her.  
  
She throws another punch at his face and leans over to toss his wand out of the gaping space above their heads.   
  
"Ugh Granger, come on," Malfoy whines, but remains rather unperturbed by it all. "And do get out of the vehicle- I'd be loathed to have to take you with me."  
  
Hermione ignores him, casting a quick freezing charm his way; smirking when his affronted gasp freezes in place.  
  
The vehicle rocks under another barrage of spells much to Padma's intense horror, and thinking quickly Hermione summons her Patronus to worm past Ron's attacks. She sees the moment he realizes where the otter came from and smiles when the constant battering against the payload ceases.   
  
"It's fine!" she calls in the now blessed silence. "I've got it! Target secured!"   
  
She fires off a happy shower of sparks to indicate her position in the vehicle.   
  
"Malfoy?" she hears Ron ask as he trots past to inspect the contents in the back of the truck.   
  
"Petrified," she says smugly, glancing over at where he sits, frozen.   
  
"Good," Ron mutters. "Where in the everloving _heck_ did he come from? Kingsley is going to have a field day with him when we get back."  
  
She hears Sadie call in, dragging the courier back into the square. Padma is retreating to help secure the flailing man.   
  
Hermione feels smug and knows she shouldn't, but they would've lost hadn't it been for her quick thinking. She lets her gaze slip back to Malfoy and frowns.  
  
What was he thinking? He couldn't have expected to just... drive away, could he?   
  
What an idiot.   
  
He doesn't look an idiot though, despite how much his face annoys her. His sharp features are frozen in an accusatory gasp, but his eyes hold no panic. No fear.   
  
He has not lost. It doesn't sit with her well and she loses some of the heady smugness.  
  
Hermione is just about to suggest that they remove Malfoy's body from the vehicle when she sees it.  
  
There's a warning glow emanating from a pocket on his chest and she remembers the coin and everything clicks just in time. Her hand fumbles for the door and she falls backward out of the vehicle- her body barely escaping the vacuum pull of the portkey that has just activated on Malfoy.  
  
It takes all of five seconds for the payload to disappear, and Hermione remains on the ground for another whole minute as Ron rages and rages, thinking about how utterly ridiculous this was becoming.   
  
Padma wants to chase it. She outlines a way to seek intel on where Voldemort might have instructed Malfoy to go. It may take a while since they no longer have the resources to track portkeys, she says. But Hermione knows that isn't going to work because Voldemort didn't send him anywhere.  
  
For some reason, she doesn't want to tell them. This isn't the Death Eaters getting their stuff back safe, this is something else. It's a part of something else that she can't quite figure out just yet. Something resurfaces from their interaction earlier up on the rooftop.   
  
"Where the bloody hell did that portkey go?" Ron curses, kicking at a wall.  
  
"Cadgwith, Cornwall," Hermione mutters, remembering.  
  
"What?" Sadie asks.  
  
Hermione shakes her head. She has no idea where he went, she tells them, or why he was even here.   
  
When they return, Moody informs them that there was nothing they could have done about it. Malfoy was hard to get intel on these days, he tells them.   
  
Two years after the Battle of Hogwarts, with over a thousand dead, Draco Malfoy has gone rogue and Hermione Granger lost fair and square. _Twice_.  
  


* * *

  
  
The damp cells are dirty and stink of rot and decay. Thick sludge coats the floors and Hermione hates how it sucks at the soles of her shoes. Beside her, Neville is mumbling about the escape route. He is no longer stout and stocky, having traded it in for gangly height and firm features. His hair is shorn close to his scalp and an ugly scar tears past one ear until it reaches his jaw.   
  
He continues to mumble under his breath. It calms him to repeat the plan to himself.   
  
 _Out the dungeons. Left at the hall. Pause with targets till command. Down through the atrium. Left. Left. Home run. Do not enter the maze._  
  
Malfoy Manor is ridiculously complex and vast, stemming from the fact that it has been standing since the acquisition of land through violence was a thing. Neville had told her that. He knows a lot about everything.   
  
A treasure trove of trivia. It is not comforting but she lets him ramble on nonetheless.   
  
The cells so far have been empty of any occupants, but they expected that. Luna and the others are being held in the lower levels. Where the wards are tough and the live security even tougher.   
  
They reach the stairwell leading down together and split to flank the entrance. Neville nods at her and Hermione takes the lead, wand held in front of her.  
  
When Neville casts a strong _Mufflatio_ over the stairwell, she is ready. The second she sees the dim light of the lower dungeons, she fires off two loud Reductos, aiming at nothing. The sound shocks and disorients the guards long enough for her to press in; throwing up a quick _protego_ before aiming Stuns at their heads. One hits the ground, unconscious, but the other guard fires back with a harsh Crucio that blessedly bounces off her shielding charm. She turns to face him and is met with the rugged features of Thorfin Rowle. His ugly sneer sends a jolt of fear down her spine, and Neville picks up the attack for her.   
  
Hermione falls back into the stairwell thankfully and begins work on the wards. She is good at dismantling them now. She is one of the best they have. The wards are tricky, being ancient blood wards to boot, but there is nothing too complicated. She worms her way through the intricately woven magic barrier just beyond the exit of the stairs and is able to render them inert just as her protego gives way.  
  
Rowle's attack hits its mark and Neville drops to the ground, jerking violently. Hermione sees him go down and chokes back on a shriek. She feels anger coil tight in her gut as she snarls, stepping over her friend with an angry slash of her wand.  
  
Her first spell knocks the Death-Eater back hard, his head cracking against the far wall.  
  
"Sectumsempra!" she intones, aiming for his heart, and the curse hits heavily.  
  
She ignores Rowle as he drops to the ground, bleeding profusely. His choking gasps echo in the damp dungeon. He will be dead in a few minutes.  
  
Hermione steps over to the second guard who'd fallen unconscious and casts a binding spell over him. She kicks away his wand, tosses an Order issued portkey on him, and hopes that whoever is on duty back at Grimmauld place will beat him up a little before Kingsley interrogates him.   
  
Behind her, Neville staggers to his feet, wiping a bloody nose.   
  
"Never gets easy," he says shakily, and Hermione knows they're losing time, but she pauses to mutter a simple healing charm to help ease a fraction of the pain.   
  
Neville acknowledges it with a small smile and moves to let Hermione work on unlocking the first cell's wards. Inside is an unconscious or dead Ginny Weasley. Her gut is tight as she forces herself to walk past and open the next cell. When Neville doesn't cry out when he goes in to retrieve Ginny, Hermione knows that her friend is okay and allows herself to relax minutely.  
  
Luna peers at her through the bars of her cell, face bruised and blonde hair a riot. Her mouth moves yet there is no sound, and for split second Hermione is afraid that they've muted her. Then she remembers that magic exists and casts the counter for a Silencio. Luna gasps aloud in relief and leans her forehead against the bars.   
  
"I knew you'd come. I just knew," the blonde says, voice unnaturally raspy and low.   
  
"We're sorry it took so long," Hermione says, eyes stinging with unshed tears.   
  
Luna only smiles. She staggers through when her cell is opened and reaches for Neville immediately. He shoots Hermione an apologetic look before ignoring the mission and hugging his girl as best he can with Ginny slumped over his shoulder.  
  
Hermione sighs and moves to the next cell. She releases Colin Creevey and Parvati Patil, both looking better than Luna and reaches the final cell. She peers in and nearly misses the prone figure lying headfirst in the muck. It is almost entirely covered with the grime of the floor and only parts of the body show through. She winces, hoping the person is okay, but all of her targets are secure.   
  
There is no one else who should be in here. Their intel had been very clear. The Malfoy dungeons are notorious for holding Order captives alone. They didn't just waste time on erecting blood wards for everyone.   
  
She signals for Neville to leave, and he does so. He has to lead them out while she flanks. It would take them some time to reach the first floor of the dungeons so she figures she will have time to catch up.   
  
Working on the cell's locking ward, she breaks through, but it takes longer than it had for the others. The figure doesn't stir even as she sloshes up near its head, and it doesn't seem to register anything when she grabs a shoulder and flips it over.   
  
A face of muck is all that reveals, and she feels disappointment well in her, seeing the drying blood mixed in with the mud on the body's chest. She drops to a crouch and places a wary finger on the figure's neck, feeling for a pulse.   
  
Nothing.  
  
She pulls back, casts a rudimentary shocking charm- hoping against hope that the voltage is enough to jolt something back to life.   
  
She tries for a pulse again.  
  
A weak thrum of blood answers her questing fingers and she withdraws, satisfied. Hermione sits back on her heels to cast the basic healing and stabilizing charms, thinking that they should be enough till the person gets proper care. She pulls a thumb across the body's eyes and down a cheek, shaking her hand after to dislodge the muck off her finger. The pale skin shining back at her almost contradicts the life she knows is now flowing inside the body. This person looks dead.   
  
Maybe she should leave.  
  
The dead guy's chest suddenly heaves and grey eyes stare into her own, flicking open with such vigor that she scrambles back, a hand on her wand.   
  
"Granger?"   
  
Fuck's sake...  
  
"Malfoy," she gasps out, hand leaving her wand to clutch at her chest. "Go back to being dead."  
  
"Can't," he wheezes. "You saved me."  
  
She winces at that. "I suppose I did."   
  
The blonde struggles to sit up and fails, arms slipping in the muck. He thuds back down to the ground and groans. Fresh blood blooms across his chest, seeping through the muck and grime that clings to his clothes.   
  
"Care to help a fellow man out?" he asks, voice raw and hoarse.  
  
Hermione crosses her arms and sniffs.  
  
"What's this about?"  
  
When she stays silent, he rolls his eyes and snorts in pain.   
  
"Is this about the supplies I commandeered?" he asks, attempting to sit up again. "That was a fair win, Granger. Five against one. Not my fault I was better prepared."  
  
"It was a waste."

"It was also four months ago."

"It was an absolute waste of well-needed supplies, and  you know it."  
  
"The good muggle fisherfolk of Cadgwith, Cornwall were immensely pleased with the supplies. I'd say it wasn't a waste," he coughs out, slowly crawling onto his knees with shaking arms.  
  
"Muggles? What did they even need it for?" she presses, confused. "We're the ones fighting-,"  
  
"I dunno," he coughs. "Maybe they're the ones stuck in between a fight they can't win, fight or hide from."  
  
"You said they wanted nothing to do with us-,"  
  
"Nothing to do with you. Or them. Or anyone."

"Since when did you give a shit about muggles?" Hermione squints.

"Don't get excited," he chortles, choking on a bit of blood he'd hacked up. "I was just someone willing to do some work for some coin. Someone with the means."  
  
Malfoy stops to hack out great, body-wracking coughs, and Hermione is sure the whole castle has heard him.   
  
Manor. Whatever.   
  
"There's no muggle town that hasn't been destroyed in a Death Eater attack, used as a safe point by the Order or been a battleground for both parties. The good folk of Cagdwith were just smart enough to adapt. Now stop being bitter and help me up."  
  
She isn't sure why but she moves anyway, arms reaching to support Malfoy's lumbering ascent. His weight is stifling, but he manages to get his feet under himself without toppling them both over. He reeks of the coppery scent of blood and tangy sweat. Hermione wrinkles her nose in disgust and steps away from him.  
  
"Kind of you to assist me for a whole minute," Malfoy snarks. "Heaven awaits thee, o battle angel Granger."  
  
"I sure hope so," she mutters. "I resurrected your sorry arse."  
  
Malfoy grins at her. It's a mad grin; his teeth shining through the grime on his face like a bright beacon. The grin of a man who saw death but made it back in time. "That you did."  
  
She turns to leave, keeping an ear out to track him as he follows. He is not as silent as she has come to expect, his feet landing heavily with each step. She wonders how far Neville and the others have gone and whether she will be in trouble for abandoning them.   
  
Behind her, Malfoy snorts.  
  
"So _you_ got Rowle," he says, appraisingly, stopping to kick at the dead man's head. "Ten points, Granger. Nicely done."

* * *

 


	2. Meet Cute/ Meet Bloody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading that first chapter ahhah. and thank you for that comment sigh I hope this meets your expectations. More to come sooon. In the meanwhile tell me whether this is ok. I'm not entiirely familiar with the style, so spare me fire and death.

 

Four months pass and Hermione misses Ron.   
  
She misses Ron and Harry and hates them at the same time for leaving her behind.   
  
She feels odd not having long hair, even if it did get in the way of everything. She wishes she could just see her friends alive and well and happily growing into their late teens. She can't fully grasp how much she misses having parents.  
  
She also does not know where Malfoy is, or whether he is even alive.   
  
Everything irks her, and she is just so goddamn tired.   
  
They train almost every day. There's been nothing to do for many of them since the need to run quick missions dried up. The war has hit a lull in its three years of running, and both sides are backing up to recuperate. The Order is trying to expand its garrison up North and has deployed Harry and Ron to spearhead it.   
  
Hermione gets to stay behind with Luna and Neville to handle a safe house in Scotland. It isn't much, and the days are long and mostly boring, but she doesn't envy the boys. Just misses them. And worries for them.   
  
Neville is firing a volley of Stuns at her, ducking past the hex she'd aimed at him. Hermione pulls away from her dreary thoughts to conjure a shield. It deflects most of the spells but lets a few slip. One catches her on the shoulder and she spins with the force, grunting in annoyance as she falls to the ground in mild paralysis.  
  
"Sorry!" Neville calls, sweet as always.   
  
"Oh bollocks," Hermione snarks, the spell having not hit hard enough to render her unconscious. "Sure you are."  
  
Luna chortles from where she sits on the backdoor porch, sewing their worn out casual clothes. Somewhere inside, Parvati is getting supper ready and Angela is resetting the wards.   
  
It is an awfully boring day and Hermione can't help but wonder whether Malfoy has survived.   
  


* * *

  
  
On one night during a particularly dreadful thunderstorm, she realizes that she'd forgotten to ask Malfoy why he had been locked up in his own family's dungeons. Nothing she knows about him so far pieces well together and it irks her so much that she stays up all night, listening to the rain as it hammers against the roof above her head. Lightning splinters the night sky and illuminates her room, lighting up the scowl on her face as she angrily tries to puzzle out Draco Malfoy.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
When she sees Malfoy next, she has just killed his father.   
  
They had finally allowed Hermione into the upper ranks and her team was now fighting alongside Harry and Ron's. Kingsley had let them raid the Carrow household the week earlier, and now they were storming the Lestrange family manor. She and the others had just clashed with the guards posted inside the manor when Malfoy Sr had slunk into the fight; disarming her friends and hitting Luna with a strong Cruciatus. Neville had screamed and charged and nearly lost his arm for it, but Hermione had been there.   
  
She'd been fast. She'd knocked Nev out of his trajectory with her own body and fired four Killing curses into Malfoy Senior's chest.   
  
She stands over him now, the room clear of her friends but filled with the slowly cooling corpses of five other Death Eaters and one innocent House Elf. Lucius Malfoy is judgemental and eerie even in death; his platinum hair spread out around his head like a confused halo. But his eyes are sunken and his face is gaunt. He is but a shell of the powerful and intimidating man he once was.  
  
When she looks up, Malfoy is there.   
  
Draco Malfoy. Malfoy Junior.   
  
He looks dispassionate and cold but she doesn't want to assume as much. His eyes are hard and his face is twisted into a subtle scowl, yet his fists are clenched and he trembles lightly. He looks angry mostly, but also confused, bitter and a little bit upset.  
  
She wants to apologize but she doesn't and when he looks up at her blankly, she wishes she'd left before this had the unlikely chance to happen.   
  
He's a bit thinner than he had been, and his hair is shaggier, falling across his forehead in a mess. His jaw is sharp and there's a strange silvery lattice of scars covering his forearms. He's ditched the dramatic double breasted cloak for a more dramatic, heavy black one. It contrasts harshly against his near pearlescent skin.  
  
He looks like Death. Like the Reaper come to harvest Lucius Malfoy's dirty soul.   
  
The thought is too morbid so Hermione shakes herself out of it. She knows she must look a right terror to him, with her hair shorn at mid-neck, curls in a riot. The new scar across her collarbone is more a healing wound than a dried scab so it is still visible to everyone with at least one eye. Its ugly and she hates it, but the man who gave it to her is dead so she wears it anyway.  
  
Malfoy looks at her for a long time. And then nods. Slowly.   
  
She takes a painful breath and struggles to find something to say.   
  
 _Sorry I killed your dad? Sorry you had to see it? Sorry you didn't get to do it yourself? Sorry, but I'm really, really, **really** not?_  
  
He saves her from impending doom by breaking the harsh silence with a quick exhalation of air.  
  
"That's thirty points in total, Granger," he says, his gravelly voice undermining the lightness he's trying to aim for. "I guess I gotta catch up."  
  
Hermione hums in awkward agreement, wondering how she's going to exit the conversation kindly when she suddenly pauses mid-thought.  
  
"Wait," she says, and Malfoy raises a careful, judgemental brow in the age-old way he always has. "Your dad was twenty points? _Only?"_  
  
He looks startled at hearing her say so much. Then, he chuckles dryly; closing his eyes and rubbing at them before laughing a little louder, and then shaking his head.   
  
"You're right," he acquiesces, meeting her eye with renowned energy. "He should be worth at least _fifty_ considering the torture and his overall gloomy and awful demeanor."  
  
Hermione nods at that. "Damn straight."  
  
"You're a lot more palatable when you're not invisible," Malfoy says, frowning in her direction like he's trying to puzzle something out.   
  
Hermione shifts her weight to her other foot. "Well, you're a million times more bearable when you're not dying miserably in your own dungeon."  
  
Malfoy laughs again; a short bark that's sharp and loud.   
  
"It's good to see that the horrors of war haven't rendered you entirely incapable of humor," he says charitably, echoing her words.   
  
Hermione fights the urge to take delight in the familiar verbal sparring and instead tries to reply neutrally.   
  
"Well, you could have just said I was funny."   
  
Malfoy smirks. "Don't overdo it, Granger."  
  
He ignores her indignant huff and taps a long slender finger against his nose before slowly pointing it at her face.   
  
"See you on the flipside, battle angel Granger," he says, before giving his father's body one last, brisk glance and disApparating to god-knows-where.   
  
Such drama for a measly ferret, Hermione thinks, rolling her eyes. She didn't even get to ask why he was here, or why he'd chosen to turn up at all. She kicks the ground near Lucius' head and steps over his body- determined to leave the room with haste.  
  
"See you on the flipside," she mutters to herself. "Malfoy, you dramatic shit."   
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione finds herself stumbling through the unknown depths of the forest, more than a little lost and very much unwilling to admit to it. Her wand is slippery with sweat from her clammy palm, and she struggles to keep her grip on it.  
  
The sounds of wand-fire have long since faded out and she nearly trembles from anxiety at the silence around her. She is far away from the fight- separated from her friends and seemingly even her foes.  
  
She is lost. She is alone. No one will bother to look for her.   
  
She finds herself hoping that someone will miraculously appear.  
  
That Malfoy will miraculously appear.   
  
He does not, and she spends an entire day miserably attempting to escape without splinching herself. But she is weak and tired and everytime she tries to set up a ward to hide behind or to conjure something simple, her anxiety gets the best of her and the action just drains her energy. When Tonks and Ron finally find her, she is dehydrated and delirious from the heat and has to be knocked out to be taken home safely.   
  


* * *

  
  
When Hermione turns twenty-one, they are still at war. There is very little land in England that is untouched by the scars they all leave behind after battles and raids and attacks and counters- yet there is more to fight for than ever before.  
  
Harry and Ginny have a child. A _child_.  
  
A sweet, beautiful baby boy called James who was born into a war that is seemingly endless. He is so beautiful and innocent and Hermione does not want to see that innocence fade, ever. It gives her hope and that's the only good thing that has come out of this, because the Potters have more to lose now.  
  
Somedays she thinks that maybe she should look to have more to lose too. She thinks that maybe investing in herself a little would give her something to fight for, to hold on to.  
  
She looks to Ron in those moments and tries so very hard to feel it. Not love- she knows that that's there. She _does_ love him. But she cannot do anything about it. Her mind will not let her act on it, dwell on it, show it explicitly or even sometimes it won't let her feel it.   
  
She tries to feel the need to have something more. Tries to feel the want for a better future, but although she knows thats what she's fighting for, she cannot let herself have it now.   
  
So she watches as Ron takes delight in Sadie's smile, leans into Lavender's touch or leaves Padma's room in the mornings when they rest in the safehouses.   
  
Those are the majority of her days. She finds that she does not care about what happens to her personal future apart from the fact that she remains alive along with her friends. She trains consistently and continues to get better at ward-breaking. She even joins Lupin at making new curses and spells. But the work is hard and dangerous, so she settles with watching and learning from her former professor as she tackles the task at hand. On the days when Snape checks in with Kingsley, she tries to weasel into his potions room to learn whatever she can from whatever he is doing. Practical healing has never been her strong suit, but she is determined to be the best asset the Order has. And if that means she has to deal with Snape's abominable attitude and the stench of boiling potions all in one claustrophobic room in the attic, then so be it.  
  
He scowls at her often and mutters about how he'd rather be left alone when he visits, but still lets her sit on a stool in the corner of his workroom and take notes.   
  
Today she sits and scribbles at her stool as he gathers the ingredients for a strong burn salve and a set of glass jars for the numbing potions he'd brewed the last time.  
  
Severus is as sharp as ever- looking as if the war hasn't aged him in the least. His hair still hangs greasily at the same length it always has, and he hides all emotion behind his customary scowl. The hard judgment in his eyes keeps everyone at bay.   
  
Hermione squirms as the herbs he cuts up neatly start to stink up the room. Its a pungent smell and she squelches the urge to gag noisily. Snape would not appreciate that.   
  
"Finished your notes, Miss Granger?" Snape asks warily.  
  
Hermione starts, surprised at hearing him speak directly to her instead of mumbling snidely.   
  
She has stopped writing, she notices. Shaking her head abashedly, she quickly notes down what she hopes he did to the ingredients.  
  
"It wouldn't do to only know how to brew a burn salve _halfway_ ," Snape continues, smugly.  
  
"N,o it would not," Hermione sighs. "Was that five milligrams of the sunspear?"  
  
"Do you want to heal the burn or start one?" he asks dryly, tone as sharp as the knife he holds.  
  
Hermione huffs, strangely reminded of someone else. "You sound like Malfoy."  
  
The effect her words have on Snape will forever remain etched in her memory. His head shoots up in alarm and he drops _all_ the roots he's holding into the cauldron, much to Hermione's his dismay. His eyes pierce into her very soul and she feels him reach out with a wordless _Legilimens_.  
  
She steels herself against his mental attack and frowns at the man's responding scowl.  
  
"My godson is _dead_ ," he says tightly, looking away and at the ruined potion. "It would do you best not to mention him in ill will."  
  
Hermione gulps, her chest tight and her grip deadly on her pencil. She hasn't been expecting that.   
  
"I... I'm sorry," she mumbles, unsure why she feels so hollow so suddenly. "I didn't know, or else I would not have brought it up."  
  
It is quite a surprise. She feels sort of let down instead of sad. A mild disappointment so to say.   
  
Snape seems to be more enraged at this.   
  
"You do not expect me to accept your false wishes," he says snidely. "Save your breath, Miss Granger."  
  
"I _am_ genuinely sorry," she snaps, narrowing her eyes.   
  
But Snape does not heed her.   
  
"I suggest you take the Wolfsbane for Remus and leave," he mutters harshly.   
  
He turns so that he cuts her view of his work with his body and shields the potions from her. Grunting in annoyance at his reaction, Hermione grabs the potions left on the counter and stomps off in search of Lupin. She focuses on asking him to teach her wandless magic, and tries desperately to ignore the hollowness that is eating at her chest.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ron is ignoring her, she notices.   
  
He purposefully follows Sadie around and chooses her to partner with for missions. Right now they are positioned in a valley just off Sussex. The air is brittle and cold, the grass wet and sharp, and the sky is dull and lifeless. The environment reflects Hermione's mood as she stalks around her designated spot with Terry beside her to flank while she attacks.   
  
Its not that she doesn't trust Terry Boot to do a good job of protecting her, she just trusts Ron _more_. And expects him to feel the same way.   
  
Sadie lost a practise battle to Madam Pomfrey once! Madam Pomfrey hasn't used her wand to say a _single_ spell of violence in her entire life leading up to the war. Hermione scowls at the injustice of it all and ignores Ron when he starts to stare at Sadie as if the sun shines out of her tits.   
  
Maybe it does. Maybe she has spectacular tits.  
  
When the Death Eaters pass through, Hermione is almost relieved to ambush them. She attacks them with such fury and eagerness that Terry has trouble keeping up with her pace. She moves through them like a devil in a dervish, hair flying and mouth in constant motion- forming spells as fast as her hand can keep up with the wand-motions.   
  
Although her wand is an extension of her arm, she does not truly rely solely on it anymore. Her free hand fires off simple spells and erects shields without the aid of one, making her a formidable force in the face of the enemy; and she sees the exact moment her targets realise what they are truly up against.   
  
She holds her aim true and strong, even as she ducks spells and pauses to throw off the enemy. She watches the Death Eaters drop to the floor- some wailing and some quiet in death- and feels stronger.  
  
Behind her, Terry is desperately trying to keep her alive. He shields her and covers her unprotected sides by disarming and tackling the enemies that flank and blindside them.  
  
Blood trickles from a wound across her shoulder and it makes her feel alive.  
  
The battle gives her a thrill of adrenaline that doesn't disappear even when Ron kisses Sadie when it ends and they stand winners. She holds on to the thrill, the euphoria, and takes it with her to the next fight. She tells herself that she doesn't need anything except for the war to be over, but despite this she finds herself retreating to bed early and hiding from Ron for the rest of the week.  
  


* * *

  
  
The thrill in her veins is decidedly _not_ adrenaline this night. In fact, her educated guess is that its anger, to be precise.   
  
Expelliarmus, she thinks calmly, catching the wand that sails at her with ease.  
  
"What the-," he mutters, spinning around in mild concern.   
  
"Granger?" his eyes squint at her in recognition and then widen at her explosive expression.   
  
"Why," she begins in a quiet, lethal voice. "Does everyone think you're _dead?"_  
  
She nearly snaps his new wand in annoyance, but the sudden sheepish look he throws her way nearly disarms her in return. He drops his eyes to the floor, cheeks colouring as he lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck.   
  
He's a lot larger than he had been. Broader too, and maybe taller. His hair is trimmed short along the sides while the front falls across his forehead and it is a dark, _dark_ black. It is bold against his marble skin and makes his eyes stand out eerily. He's dressed in dark clothing as well and has been staking out her target for as long as she has been.   
  
Except this time she has surprised him.  
  
"Ah yes," he says awkwardly, a stupid grin on his face. "Let me explain that rumor-,"   
  
"That _you_ started no doubt," Hermione scoffs vehemently, crossing to where he stands in the shadows.   
  
He's chosen a position by the archway with an open and unhindered view of their target's safehouse as opposed to where she has chosen to be- up on a terrace opposite the building with a sniper's view of the area. Now, they both stand in the archway, shielded from sight by a heavy canopy of flowers and several of Malfoy's wards and charms. Greece is _beautiful_ this time of year, and despite the reasons she is here, Hermione is glad she is able to see it in her lifetime.   
  
The squat white buildings stacked over each other, cresting the crystal blue sea, are stunning in their simplicity and make her want to forget that she is here to kill a man.  
  
"Yes, but now you know the truth," Malfoy smirks, still rubbing his neck.  
  
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms stubbornly. "Your godfather would probably appreciate the knowledge more than I could care for it."   
  
He falls silent and she knows she's struck a nerve. Malfoy looks away then, staring intently at where she has been informed the target would be in a few minutes.   
  
She wonders who has paid Malfoy to be here. Who does he work for? What other power, apart from the Order, even knew of Amycus Carrow, let alone wanted him dead?  
  
She does not ask him.   
  
"The longer hair suits you better, Granger," Malfoy says quietly, eyes still at the doorway of their target's hideout.   
  
"You look awful with black hair," she offers, still angry.   
  
"That's not fair-,"   
  
"Neither is _pretending to be dead_ -,"  
  
"Potter did it!" he interjects.  
  
"-for two whole months," she continues, casting a wordless muffling charm around them. "Harry was gone for at least ten minutes!"  
  
"How sweet," he says. "Did you miss running into me?"   
  
He looks at her then, standing close enough that she will have to tilt her head back to look up at him in return. He looks mildly amused and hides a smile behind a controlled smirk. She scoffs and feels him relent.   
  
"The Dark Lord had to think it was true, Granger. And that meant Severus as well," he begins.  
  
"You had to fool Voldemort and Severus Snape. Two of the most powerful Legilimens to date. I'm sure there was an easier way to do this."   
  
"What's done is done," Malfoy sighs. "And it has succeeded, by some stroke of luck. Now I can work in relatively saner circumstances."   
  
 _What work?_ she wants to ask. _Why does it seem like you are no longer with Voldemort? Why do you run around being a nuisance? **What work?**  _  
  
"How is he? My godfather?"  
  
Hermione snorts. "He's a snarky pain in the arse, as is usual for him."  
  
Malfoy chuckles lightly at that.  
  
"You're not surprised that he's with us?" she asks.   
  
"What if I didnt know about that and now you've just told me?"  
  
"Why else would you ask me how he was? That's also the only way I'd know that Snape was being a bitch about losing his only godson."  
  
"Okay, firstly... ouch. You may cease the poking, I understand it was an arsehole thing to do. Secondly, he's always a bitch about everything so your assumption-,"  
  
"Don't be a prick about this," she snaps, avoiding his eye.  
  
"Fine," he grumbles, crossing his arms. "You're no fun anymore, Granger."  
  
"And you're a fat liar," she snarks. "What great news. Alert Skeeter!"   
  
"Skeeter would have kittens about this entire situation if she was still alive," Malfoy agrees, rubbing at his chin.   
  
"You are deflecting this conversation so hard," Hermione frowns, annoyed.   
  
She has never wanted a conversation to go smoother than she does now. Malfoy seems _intent_ on avoiding it however, and smirks down at her when she notes it.   
  
"Smart witch," he nods, eyes returning to focus on where their target should be in a few moments.   
  
Hermione scowls and turns to face him, tracing his features carefully. The faint, new scar on his cheekbone, the way one of the tips of his ears is perpetually red, the squint of his eyes and the tension in the way he holds himself.   
  
When she turns back, the target has just appeared out through the doorway. Amycus Carrow steps out into the open, eyes shifty, and his clothing reduced to the battered remains of something once expensive. She senses Draco move for his wand, _the one she still has_ , and smirks.   
  
"Forty points to whoever gets the kill," she says quickly before thrusting her arm out with a wordless curse on her lips.   
  
Malfoy doesn't even have the time to blink.  
  


* * *

  
  
When Severus sees his godson in her memories, he nearly cries.   
  
She, Hermione Granger, nearly sees Severus Snape cry.   
  
She holds her breath when he ceases the _legilimens_ charm and retreats from her mind, and hopes to god that the potioneer doesn't start weeping. She crosses her fingers behind her back and stays still.  
  
But she need not worry for Snape only holds two fingers to his eyes for a really long time, and when he removes them the tears are no longer there.  
  
"Why?" he asks simply.  
  
She supposes he means to ask her why she offered him the memory, or why she catalouged it in the first place. It clearly isn't a natural observation of Malfoy's features- that hadn't been necessary given the situation. She took the time to carefully trace his features- a purposeful action with a clear intent.  
  
"I thought you might appreciate knowing the truth," she says carefully, trying not to offend him.   
  
Severus nods at that. "I greatly admire your effort. Although I cannot understand how you came by this information."  
  
"Well obviously I saw him," she snorts, forgetting herself.   
  
"And you did not think to restrain or detain him?" Snape presses, seemingly disdainful of her choices. "He is a valuable asset with a trove of information we do not yet posses and access to links we have yet to control ourselves."  
  
Hermione scowls at the man, mirroring his usual expression. "He didn't kill me on sight and I returned the favor."  
  
"That is not how _wars_ are _won_ , Miss Granger," Snape seethes, somehow angry at her.   
  
"Well that is how godsons are kept alive for their only remaining loved one to see," she snaps back. "It kept _me_ alive and in return did the same for _him_. If you are upset then you can wait with me till we see him next and personally attack him for whatever it is that you're taking out on me."  
  
Snape sits back, seemingly having heard what he wanted to. "So there is an acquaintance of sorts here."  
  
Hermione frowns. "A what now?"  
  
"An understanding at the very least."   
  
"I didn't say-,"   
  
"Intriguing," Snape observes, ignoring her. "I must be on my way. Help yourself to the Dreamless Sleep in my cabinet. Merlin knows the Potter kid could use some."  
  
Hermione narrows her eyes at his suggestion that Ginny drug her kid to sleep, but she understands how James' constant crying is beginning to affect everyone's temperament. She ignores him, however, and watches him leave with a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
  


* * *

  
  
It's the first time she and Ron are on a mission together in weeks. She feels less awkward than she expected to be and allows the summer sun to seep into her wretchedly pale skin. Ron, on the other hand, is really tense.   
  
"Ran through the files, 'Mione?" he asks restlessly.   
  
"For the fourth time, Ronald, yes," she replies, frowning at him. "Can't you just sit here and enjoy the sun for a while?"   
  
She indicates to the small chair beside hers and raises her brows at him. She's sat out in the balcony of the room they've booked up on the sixth floor of a questionable establishment. Their room faces the heavily warded front entrance of a seedy looking building belonging to one of the cartels that have sprung up in the wake of Voldemort's reign. The cartel is rumored to be shadow-run by Fenrir Greyback- and if that proves true tonight, they will have a shot at their first big break at Voldemort's inner circle.  
  
Ron fidgets behind her and refuses to join her on the balcony. He fusses with his new appearance at the mirror, fumbling with their new robes. The polyjuice potions they've taken have turned them pale and eerie, similar to Bellatrix and her kin.   
  
Ron's hair is black and long and touches his elbows. Hermione gags at the sight and goes back to peering through their balcony. Her own skin is miles away from its usual tan brown and it makes her stomach sink, but she focuses on their mission and takes comfort in the safety of well-laid plans.  
  
When night falls, they wait to see their informant enter the building before crossing the street to follow him in. Hermione feels the wards reach out to scan them and she hopes their informant did what was necessary to grant her access.  
  
They enter with ease.  
  
The joint is gloomy and dark, lit only by a few moody light fixtures and a cage full of pixies. The few wizards that mill about drinking firewhiskey are large and intimidating. Some, however, stand sleek and tall and regal- allowing Hermione to note who the ones with the real power are, and who is just the muscle.   
  
Their informant sits at the table right in the middle of the room, just like they'd discussed with Moody. He's shrouded by cigarette smoke, but when they draw near, Hermione spots dark, closely cropped hair and nearly dies on the spot.   
  
Except its not black hair, its _brown_ , and the person is not deathly pale, he's a healthy tan and is a head shorter than who she thinks it is.   
  
She and Ron take their seats quietly and Ron indicates for a pint. Their informant smiles at them crookedly and leans forward. His face is too complicating to be indentified- most likely the product of a charm.  
  
"When I rise and leave, you'll know that he is here. Do not waste time or we will all die," he says in a low voice.   
  
"What about these guys?" Hermione asks.  
  
"Leave them to me," the man offers, smiling.  
  
"Do you have the potion?" Ron asks, eyes shifting to glance at their potential exits in a way that is _ridiculously_ suspicious. "Can't expect us to go against a werewolf without some luck."  
  
Their informant scoffs. "Do you have my deal? Can't expect a bloke to help without his protection."  
  
Hermione rejects the urge to scowl and places a small coin on the table beside the coaster for Ron's drink. It is a list of the informant's requirements from the Order for his help, signed by Kingsley and transfigured to look like a galleon.   
  
"Right then," he says, grinning as he pockets the coin. "Guess I'll be rolling with you lot after this goes down. Got any hot birds back there?"   
  
Ron growls in annoyance, reaching for the potion their informant passes over to them as he rises to leave. He sidesteps a few other patrons of the bar and slowly morphs as the charm leaves his features as he walks. By the time he reaches out to shake hands with three wizards who'd just walked in, he strongly resembles someone Hermione feels she should know.  
  
She doesn't have time to ponder, however, as the newcomers start to move and her mind kicks into overdrive. Greyback is among them; a brutally large, hulking figure amidst the smaller, leaner wizards that accompany him. The four of Dark Wizards head upstairs and their mission begins.  
  


* * *

 


	3. Lamb to the Slaughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whooo and there's more. I want to stagger out the chapters so I will have time to write new ones but I'm too excited lol.  
> comment something funny you'd like to see happen haha

 

Fenrir Greyback is a fearsome force.  
  
Even with the Felix Felicis potion, Ron and Hermione have a difficult time subduing him. The building rocks with harsh spells and its framework shudders under their intense power. The bodies of the other two wizards lie unmoving on the floor, ignored in the melee. Sounds of fighting rise from the bar downstairs, but Hermione's attention is elsewhere.  
  
Greyback has transformed into a monstrosity of a wolf, his back hunched so sharply that the bones of his spine jut out. His claws are quick to snipe at them and Hermione feels one pass by too close for her liking.   
  
She fires a _protego_ that he shatters immediately, and uses the distraction to throw herself out of the werewolf's immediate range of attack.   
  
"Ron!" she cries, casting yet another protego with her free hand, and firing a _reducto_ for good measure. "Ron, hurry up!"  
  
Greyback deflects the spell easily, dropping to all fours and charging across the small room. Ron hurls himself at the creature midway, hitting its side with a strong Stun. It catches Greyback off guard and he thuds against a nearby wall, splintering its wooden framework.  
  
"Now 'Mione!" he pants. "Keep him down and I'll get the portkey."  
  
Hermione casts a Cruciatus without thinking.   
  
Fenrir twists under the spell, body writhing in agony as he hacks out laughter instead of painful howls.  
  
"What the bloody _hell_ , Hermione?" Ron throws her a disapproving frown, before lifting his arm to subdue the werewolf the way Kingsley would want.   
  
He manages to get the first word of the incantation out before Greyback launches himself at him, somehow having broken through the Cruciatus curse, jaws open wide as he growls.  
  
"RON!" Hermione _screams_.  
  
Greyback sinks his jaws deep into Ron's left shoulder and she watches her friend's eyes bug out as he topples under the force of the werewolf's attack. She screams and fires _reducto_ after _reducto_ at the creature's hulking figure until one hits hard enough to blast its ear clean off. Blood splatters against the wall Greyback is facing and he howls. He turns around then, to glare at her with yellow eyes; his jaws dripping with Ron's blood. She feels a fire ignite inside her at the sight of it.  
  
She locks eyes with the creature and darts to the left just as he pounces, seeing him crash into the wall where she just was from the corner of her eye.  
  
She fires a sharp exploding hex at him, but the werewolf barrels right through it- ignoring the magic as if it were merely a cobweb in his way. Hermione's heart plummets to her stomach and she barely avoids Greyback's claws as they tear through the air. She falls back against the hardwood floor and rolls tightly, watching as the werewolf snarls at her eye level.   
  
He looks crazed with bloodlust; muzzle glistening with saliva and fresh blood. Hermione shudders as she clambers to her feet, her pulse racing. Greyback can sense her fear and she knows it. But she will not die here. She will _not_. She can't let Ron bleed out in a dingy attic.   
  
She also knows she cannot win this fight with Stuns and freezing hexes. As Greyback leaps for her and she ducks past, she catches a glimpse of Ron's shuddering form, bleeding out on the floor, and something ignites inside her.  
  
 _Sectumsempra!_ she thinks darkly as she spins around to face the creature, hand slashing through the air as the curse hits hard once, twice, _thrice_.   
  
Greyback howls loudly as gashes open all across his body; wide and ugly, weeping blood. His spine cracks as he rears up on his hind legs in pain; his howl a bloodcurdling sound.  
  
But Hermione is relentless.  
  
 _Imperio_ , she casts mentally, twitching her fingers in the air.  
  
Fenrir obeys, his cruel eyes glassing over and his figure slumping. His body continues to bleed furiously.   
  
"You _will_ transform back into a human," Hermione commands icily.   
  
Greyback obliges, flinching once against the spell before the witch tightens her magic against him. His large hulking form cracks and snaps brutally as it sinks into his usual human self, the blood remaining to stain his face and chest. His wounds continue to bleed as he just stands there, naked, breathing heavily.   
  
"You will not move for the next ten minutes," Hermione continues angrily. "And you will not remember that this was cast upon you."  
  
Greyback repeats her command in a bland voice, and she grits her teeth as she moves to bind him with a spell. She petrifies him before lifting the Imperius curse; placing the portkey on him with disgust that grows as she watches his body get whisked away.   
  
"Nicely done," someone hoots.   
  
She whips around to face Theodore Nott, who stands in the splintered doorway to the attic, lean and graceful amidst the disarray. He casually appraises her as he walks forward.  
  
"Didn't know you had the balls, Granger."  
  
Hermione's restraint snaps as he draws too close for comfort, and she thrusts her hand out. The spell catches Nott in the chest and he slams against a wall, lifting a few feet into the air.   
  
"What the _fuck_ are you doing here Nott?" she simmers.   
  
"Clearly I'm here to help-,"  
  
"You don't expect me to believe you-,"  
  
"Granger honestly," he coughs lightly. "Why else would I even enter like that?"  
  
"I should crush your throat right now for what you did to Hogwarts," she seethes, eyes pricking with tears and anger.   
  
"Ah, ah," he chuckles, straining to breathe against her spell. "No revenge. That wasn't part of the deal."  
  
Hermione's crude, wandless spell slips and he thuds to the ground, drawing his wand for good measure.   
  
"What deal?" she frowns warily, wand still poised and at the ready.  
  
Nott junior flips a galleon into the air, and it morphs into a small paper that flutters towards her face. She smacks it out of the air in irritation.  
  
"You?!" she sighs, confused. "Really? What in Merlin's name is going on?"   
  
Nott chuckles again, summoning his amnesty deal out of the air and back to his possession. "Right-o Granger, my new pal. Now that we're done not killing each other, shall we get a move on and help your friend not bleed to death?"  
  


* * *

  
  
"I cannot believe you were our informant," Hermione snaps when she sees Nott sitting at the table in the kitchen in the safe-house, sipping something dark out of a small teacup.  
  
"And I cannot begin to understand when you became such a terror," he smiles. "Morning Granger, you look well."  
  
"How long?" she mutters instead. "How long were you a double agent?"  
  
Nott looks offended at her brusqueness. "I'm fine as well, thank you. And it's been around six months now."  
  
"Why the change of heart?" she asks coldly, fixing an equally cold coffee from whatever is left in the pot.  
  
"How's Weasley?" Nott asks instead, raising a brow as if daring her to challenge his change of topic.   
  
Hermione rolls her eyes. She has been waiting outside Ron's room for _hours_ now and no one has told her anything. Madam Pomfrey has called for Sirius, Charlie, and even _Lupin_. But not her. Kingsley gave her a sharp glare when he left Ron's room, and she's sure they've noticed the use of an Imperius on Greyback when he'd arrived here.  
  
"He's alive," she offers to Nott, hoping its true. "Not that you care."  
  
"Well," he clears his throat, setting the teacup down gently. "I happen to give a few shits about the people I now have to work with. I hope my _concern_ doesn't offend your sensibilities, Granger."  
  
She scowls at his look of false innocence and sits at the chair furthest from him.   
  
"It does actually," she sniffs. "What makes you think you can sit here and make yourself comfortable? How can you expect us to just welcome you like that, no questions asked?"  
  
"Why this of course," he replies, producing the galleon she'd given him out of thin air. "We had negotiations, Granger. Negotiations equate to questions being asked and decisions being made. Sorry you weren't important enough to be there."  
  
Hermione suppresses the urge to slap him. "You're _six years_ too late to this party, Nott."  
  
Theodore's mood shifts, his eyes darkening and his posture stiffening so that he sits tall. His face is cold and his lips are almost sneering at her with deliberate menace that sends involuntary shivers down her spine. She squirms under his icy glare and tries to sip at her coffee as if it hasn't affected her.   
  
"The _party_ should not have lasted six years," he says tightly. "If your _Order_ was competently run, this would all have been over much earlier. And with much less loss. The person running my side is a _mad-man_ who's no longer human. You have wonder-boy and _hope_ where we had pain and torture. But you sucked, and we're here now to help you fight against _us_. So suck it _up_ , Granger."  
  
Hermione opens her mouth to protest but he waves a hand at her dismissively and picks up his teacup again.   
  
"You should go oversee the Weasley's healing process. Losing an arm must be tough," he says, affecting a blasè tone.  
  
"He hasn't lost-,"  
  
"Oh, Granger," Nott sighs, throwing her a sharp look. "Any wizard worth their wand knows that nothing survives a werewolf's jaws."  
  
Hermione grumbles at that and hurriedly stands up to leave, heart wrenching at what might have happened to Ron.   
  
"While you're at it, start worrying about how much Wolfsbane you're going to need," Nott says after her, sipping at his teacup innocently. "Having two werewolves around is a big strain."  
  
"Two werewol-," she begins to question before the realization hits her like a bludger to the chest.  
  
Hermione freezes midstep and feels the fear and guilt wash over her like a wave, smothering and cold.  
  
"Fuck," she says. "Fucking _fuck_."  
  


* * *

  
  
Kingsley is _massively_ disappointed.  
  
He frowns at her from across his desk at Grimmauld Place, and the look is disapproving enough to make Hermione squirm even though she's fully prepared to defend herself.  
  
"An Unforgivable?" he continues muttering. "If we can't keep some rules sacred then how can we separate ourselves from _them?"_  
  
Moody and Severus stand stoically to her left and Tonks flanks Kingsley on his side of the table. She winks at Hermione when she catches the older witch's eye, flashing her a quick grin of approval.  
  
"We have to draw a _line_ between them and us! What's the point of all our efforts if we allow some of ours to go firing Avada Kadavras like its a tickling charm."  
  
Hermione winces. It isn't the first time she's used an Unforgiveable, but she tamps down on mentioning anything stupid. Moody shuffles where he stands, his peg leg thudding against the floor.  
  
"Kingsley," he begins. "We must recognize how dangerous the situation was before we pass judgment. Greyback is a top rank threat."  
  
"An Imperius is an unforgiveable offense-," Kingsley began to say.  
  
Severus snorts at that, cutting in. "We sent two _children_ to handle an alpha werewolf with only disarming charms in their artillery. It would have been unforgiveable blood on our hands if this mission had gone awry. Your hands."  
  
Hermione gulps at his words and silently looks to Shacklebolt for his response. He glares at Snape minutely before sighing.   
  
"You're obviously not the first of ours to use an Unforgiveable in battle, Hermione, and I can understand the urge to crush those who have wronged you. You children have suffered enough under their cruelty," he says with heavy dismay. "But if I cannot prevent us from slipping down a treacherous slope, then who will? Do we fight fire with fire? Dark magic with _darker_ magic?"   
  
Snape looks like he's about to agree, but he keeps it to himself.   
  
"I will protect what we fight for until my last breath, and that is who we are. We fight for goodness and a world of hope and love. We will not achieve that through cold-blooded murder and dark magic," Kingsley nods with firm finality.  
  
"Wonderful. Then what of Miss Granger?" Severus asks dryly as if Kingsley's speech has just bored him to death.  
  
"It will be noted down and remembered when the time for judgment comes. We need a strong witch such as you to continue the fight right now. Proceed with your missions and fight the good fight, but please refrain from further insubordination, Hermione. You're dismissed."  
  
Hermione scowls deeply and Tonks makes a sound of disagreement at Kingsley's statement. She can't believe the nerve.  
 __

* * *

  
  
"Hey you," she mumbles, peering across the room when Ron finally opens his eyes.  
  
"'Mione," he croaks, raising a hand to run through his now ginger hair. "Why are you so far away?  
  
She makes it up to his bed before the tears fall.   
  
"I'm so _sorry_ ," she blubbers, closing her eyes and covering her face with her hands.  
  
"'Mione," Ron mutters, startled. "Don't cry! It's... it's just half."  
  
"What do you _mean?_ It's half an arm!" she exclaims through her hiccuping sobs.  
  
"Wait, what?" Ron frowns. "I've got two of those 'Mione. What are we talking about again?"   
  
Hermione's jaw drops as Ron wriggles his left arm up from where it rests beneath the sheets. Its wrapped neatly in gauze and shines with the aura of stabilizing spells.  
  
The _nerve_ of that useless Nott.  
  
Hermione has to resist from scowling as Ron begins to understand what she'd been talking about and proceeds to laugh at her.   
  
"You thought I lost my arm?" he guffaws. "Wait till I tell Harry! You're a riot, 'Mione."  
  
She flushes a deep red, happy to see him in a light mood. Her heart rises, unburdened by Nott's concerns from earlier.   
  
"I'm half-werewolf," Ron says after his laughing stirs up an ache in his back. "That's what I was saying."  
  
"What?" Hermione stammers, chest wrenching.   
  
"Half a werewolf," Ron shrugs. "You know."  
  
"No... no, I don't know. What's a _half_ werewolf? As opposed to a full one?"   
  
Ron pauses to think. "I'm not sure, but isn't it neat?"   
  
Hermione rubs furiously at her tears and tries to answer her friend.   
  
"I d- don't know," she whines. "I don't want to have to help you lock yourself up every full moon and then- goodness, imagine the pain and hurt you'll go through- oh god Ron I'm so _sorry_ -,"  
  
"'MIONE," Ron exclaims, reaching for her as his face breaks into a grin. "I'm just messing with you, you bint. It wasn't even a full moon yesterday- you _know_ this stuff. I can't believe you fell for it."  
  
"What?" she asks slowly, yanking her arms from his grasp.  
  
"I'm not a werewolf," Ron clarifies, laughing. "Bloody hell, you really fell for it! I'm sorry 'Mione, I just couldn't help it. Nott thought it would be hilarious, and he was _right_ \- Fred would've loved it. Hey- hey Hermione! No, come back. 'Mione. Where are you going?"   
  
"To kill a Pureblood," she snarls as she stalks out of the room angrily, all concern for her friend taking a backseat to her annoyance towards Theodore Nott's meddling ways.   
  
Rom sighs behind her. "Oh well. Tell Padma to come see me then. She's probably really worried."  
  
His request only makes her angrier.


	4. A Friend in Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys I write this on pc so i rlly didn't know how ginormous the chapters are on mobile. I hope it isn't boring !  
> also, hello everyone! I'd love to hear what you all think about the story so far. thanks for reading.

Theo Nott is an invaluable resource to the Order, which is confusing because Hermione finds herself in near constant contact with the wizard. He's almost everywhere, hovering in her periphery and casually existing around her. She expected the Order to utilize him at the same level they use Harry and Ron. Nott was a high ranking Death Eater in his time there and is quite possibly as good of a duelist as Ron. She muses over the possible reasons why Nott could be as useless to the Order as she apparently is and comes up short. There is no discernible reason as to why she, Hermione Granger, should constantly run into Theodore Nott.   
  
This morning, he sits at the round table in the kitchen at precisely 5 am, where Hermione has come to expect him to be. He's stirring his dark drink in one of Molly's tiny, floral teacups, and when he sees her he nods curtly. Politely. As usual.  
  
Hermione rolls her eyes. As usual.   
  
She is an unseemly sight, with her bedhead and overworn clothes. She knows he has similarly shitty sleeping conditions but is wholly unable to comprehend how he manages to look composed every morning. She fixes her cold coffee and sits at her end of the table.   
  
They spend ten minutes in silence, sipping at their drinks. Hermione thinks about how she hasn't seen Harry in a long while, how Ron is well enough to battle now, and how much she's concerned about how hard Luna is pushing herself.   
  
She also realizes how long it's been since she's run into Malfoy. She wonders if he's alive.  
  
She always winds up at this particular concern and when she does, she can't help but glance up at Nott. Somehow, he always catches her eye at that exact moment, as if he _knows_ what she's thinking about and that he's thinking about it too.  
  
It unnerves her.   
  


* * *

  
  
Nott really is everywhere.  
  
He tags along on every mission that she's deployed on, he sits in on every meeting she's in and has just moved into the dorm she shares with Parvati.   
  
He casually drops a small duffel bag and a pile of neatly folded clothes on the edge of the new bed pushed up against the far wall, seemingly unaware of Parvati's open-mouthed stare. He's almost too tall for their small room and Hermione is immediately aware of how much space he takes up, and how little is left. Their tiny rooming space must also be a far cry from the lifestyle he's used to. It makes her feel uncomfortable.   
  
Theodore is rifling through his bag when Parvati coughs wildly, drawing his attention.   
  
"Patil," he nods slowly, turning to acknowledge her with an unreadable face. "Weather got you down?"  
  
"W-what are you doing here?" Parvati stammers, inelegantly gesturing around at their room.   
  
"I'm moving in, obviously," he says casually. "Thought you were the smart twin."  
  
"That's Padma," Hermione interjects before she can help herself.   
  
"Ah," Theodore chuckles as Parvati huffs angrily.   
  
"Who let you in here?" she grumbles, growing incensed at his aloof manner.  
  
Nott refuses to rise to the bait and just shrugs. "Lupin's your guy, go badger him about it."  
  
"Lupin would _never_ -,"  
  
"Well, he did."  
  
"This is crazy, they can't just... _chuck_ you in here with us!" she mutters, crossing her arms and flipping her meticulously braided hair over her shoulder.  
  
"They have, so I suggest you deal with it," Nott snarks, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Don't tell me what to do," Parvati narrows her eyes, looking to Hermione for back up.  
  
Hermione sighs. Parvati has the tendency to be a real brat about things, and its showing as of late. Despite that, she doesn't want to have to face the brunt of it, especially for Nott's sake. Hermione sure as hell isn't prepared to defend Nott's right to be here, primarily because she isn't quite sure whether he has the right. Either way, it's not like anyone expects her to actually _stand up_ for Theodore fucking Nott, scion of the family that destroyed half her alma mater and her friends. That's ridiculous.   
  
"Ignore him, Parvati," she says, blithely overlooking the unexpected sneer Nott throws her way. "Let's just get back to your book."  
  
They return to reading the hefty tome Parvati stole from the hideout they raided last week, and Nott retreats to his corner of the room. They don't hear anything from him for the rest of the day.  
  
After that Hermione begins to see him less and less.  
  
He's never in the kitchen anymore and rarely turns up for the meetings she is allowed into. He sits in silence whenever he's in their shared room, or never comes in while they're awake at all.  
  
When they're finally on a mission together again, he is icy to them all. He's tall and unfriendly and intimidating, and Hermione feels like she's in Third year again, being bullied by Pureblood spawn. When eight days pass and he shows no signs of returning to the smart-ass, snarky version of himself, Hermione realizes that maybe she was wrong.   
  
 _Nott_ had expected her to defend him. _He_ had expected her defense.   
  
And that transcends her from unnerved to confused as all hell.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Hey!"  
  
If Nott hears her he makes no indication to it and just walks away at the same pace.  
  
"Nott!" Hermione calls out, marching after him with narrowed eyes.   
  
"What?" he snaps suddenly, coming to halt.  
  
Hermione starts in surprise and hastens to complete her question. "Why- why don't you drink tea in the kitchen in the morning anymore?"  
  
She cringes at that moment of stupidity and isn't surprised when the wizard resumes walking away from her.  
  
" _Hey!_ What's your problem?" she demands in exasperation.   
  
The Pureblood sighs long-sufferingly and turns to face her. He's dressed in a strange jumper, probably to ward off the oncoming winter chills. He looks rather silly to Hermione, as it is a size too small for his frame, but she doesn't think that giggling at his appearance will help them talk.  
  
"You'll have to be more specific," he says flatly. "I happen to have a wide array of those."  
  
Hermione huffs at that. "You lot are so dramatic. I'm asking why you've been acting like such a prick lately- if that wasn't obvious."  
  
"Your words really do incline me to open up to you, Granger," Nott snorts elegantly, shaking his head in disbelief. "You've got as much tact as a Romanian dragon wrestler. That is to say, none at all. Nothing's the matter, Granger. Now leave me alone."  
  
"See! That's what I'm talking about," she exclaims, throwing her hands up. "You were perfectly polite until now."  
  
"Yeah, and with no reason to be," he smirks. "You were uncivil to the point I mistook you for a Weasley."  
  
"That's unnecessary-," she protests.  
  
"Spare me," Theodore rolls his eyes. "It is rather clear that I am unwanted here, but as much as I'd much rather leave, it is imperative that I remain. So I shall take extra care in functioning outside of your precious little lives and work from there."  
  
"Goddammit, Nott," Hermione groans. "You are the _worst_. You are the literal worst. I'm sorry I was a bit of a bitch- but can you not act like such a prick? It's not like I don't have a good reason."  
  
"Oh yeah?" he asks, crossing his long arms across his narrow chest in one smooth motion. "And what righteousness propelled you to take Patil's side over my being in your room?"  
  
Hermione snorts. "That's really what this is about?"   
  
Theodore frowns and turns away, his eyes hard and mouth tight. "Nevermind."  
  
"No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to betray our whole school and expect to walk in her to a warm welcome. Be happy you're not being beaten into the floorboards."  
  
"From what I've heard you're much warmer to much worse than me," he mumbles lowly, too quiet for her to catch.  
  
"I'm sorry what?"  
  
Nott scowls deeply. "I'm _trying_ to fix this, Granger."  
  
Hermione catches his eye and frowns. "And that's good for you. But it doesn't mean we're going to automatically accept you- ...wait. Is that _Ron's_ sweater?"  
  
She finally realizes why the hideous jumper caught her attention earlier and she gasps, affronted, as she pokes Nott's chest. The offending wool item continues with its existence, clearly comfortable with being adorned on the skinny Pureblood.  
  
The traitorous piece of Molly's knitting.   
  
Hermione glares at the wizard. "It is!"  
  
Theodore picks at a stray piece of lint and nods wryly. "I had no warm clothes so Weasley lent me a jumper. It's quite hideous but he thinks I like it."  
  
"Ron? Ron gave you his clothes?" Hermione asks in shock.  
  
Nott sighs and nods again. "Is it that difficult for one to comprehend that a Weasley could be charitable? Interesting."  
  
Hermione sputters, shaking her head. "Ron lent _you_ his sweater? I can't believe it. And you told him to trick me into believing your _lies_ about his injuries. What is going on here? I demand to know!"  
  
Nott laughs sharply, surprised. "Make your demands, Granger. I assure you nothing will come of it."   
  
"If Ron's so nice to you- and I can't imagine why- then why are you so annoyed all of a sudden? Does it kill you to know that I chose Parvati over you? She's my _friend_ , what did you expect?"   
  
"She's a whiny brat, that's what she is, but yeah let's go with what you said."  
  
Hermione glowers warningly. "A brat who happens to have fought alongside me and saved my life as much as I have saved hers."  
  
"Fine," Nott allows, rolling his eyes. "Patil is the hero and I'm the villain. So be it."  
  
"You can't have expected anything else," she snorts, ignoring the Pureblood's show of disdain at the sound.   
  
"Actually I did," Nott sighs, with put-upon forlorn. "It appears my source was incorrect- you're not exactly as peachy as you were made out to be."  
  
Hermione frowns deeply, a tad confused. "I don't follow...."  
  
"None the matter," the wizard says, waving his hand dismissively.   
  
"No, do go on," she presses, mind churning. "What on earth does that mean?"  
  
But Nott is tight-lipped. He tugs at the sleeves of his jumper, that end high up on his forearms, and turns to leave. The smirk he flashes her way only lasts for a second before he covers it up with a practiced look of gentlemanly despair.   
  
"Unfortunately I have a prior appointment with your friend _Moody_ so I'm afraid we'll have to talk later, Granger," he says, not at all upset in the least. "Farewell."  
  
Hermione grits her teeth as he sweeps away, his stupid sweater somehow failing to reduce the air of grace around his lithe frame. The way the Pureblood strides off reminds her of a face she'd rather not think of and it bothers her entirely. She isn't ready to accept Nott's presence here and she sure as hell isn't prepared to reconcile with the fact that if one Slytherin could defect and join the Order, then a certain other could do so as well.  
  


* * *

  
It does not sit well with Hermione that she hasn't seen Malfoy in several months. Even though she is extremely busy with a fresh batch of missions and logistics to run for all of them, she can't help but ponder over the wizard's absence.  
  
He has previously run into her in situations where they'd shared targets. She isn't completely sure why he was locked in his own house or at the Lestrange manor where she killed his father, but otherwise, their routine rendezvous occur at instances of interest to both parties. And she's sure her new mission falls into that category.   
  
But apparently not, for she hasn't seen his trademark silver hair in almost forever.   
  
And this bothers her to no end.   
  
Has he upgraded? Are his targets more high profile now? Is he running into Harry?

She'll never be as high profile as Harry- not when Kingsley has actual, trained Aurors to fight the innermost circle. No, she will remain in the periphery of the heart of the action, much to her dismay.   
  
She scowls at the thought of being sent on missions that even a rebel doesn't care for. What bothers her the most, however, is the unbidden worry that she might actually miss the ferret's ridiculously blasé attitude when running into old enemies in the middle of a fucking warzone. Or even worse, that he might have run into someone far more useful to his campaign than she.

 

* * *

 


	5. Of Rest and Reformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me how this one is....  
> Not entirely sure about it hehe

 

Hermione is late.  
  
She's supposed to be at the Apparition point already, but the dark wizard she had been dueling had set the entire left wing of the warehouse on fire, forcing her to abandon the plan and escape through a longer route.   
  
Now, she hurtles across the field surrounding the large shed where the small band of Death Eaters had been meeting some new recruits from Ireland. The moon bathes the field in a tranquil silver light and their hideout continues to succumb to the fierce flames behind her as she runs. The wind whips her hair out of her face and the blood on her forehead trickles into her left eye. She huffs heavily, breath coming out in short gasps as she struggles to continue exerting her body past its very obvious limits. Her fight had been a harsh one; the unnamed dark wizard had resorted to using Avadas exclusively, prompting her to act with extreme care. One miscalculated move and she could have walked right into a Killing curse.   
  
Her heart keeps on hammering behind her ribs, still tense. It must be that her blood is so loud in its thrumming that she doesn't hear him sneak up on her.   
  
"Granger?" he asks, although she's sure it's just by habit at this point. "Fancy running into you here."  
  
"Of all the barns, in all the fields, in all of England," she mutters, refusing to look at him as he catches up.   
  
Malfoy chuckles. "Funny."  
  
"I do try."  
  
"It's a great effort."  
  
"I know."  
  
They're panting heavily, their words reduced to different sounding heavy breaths with some indication of sense. She peeks at him to catch a quick glance of his face, and is horrified. Malfoy is glistening with the sheen of blood, highlighted in the moonlight. Its splattered across his chest and neck and dribbles down his cheekbones. A cut across his cheek is furiously weeping red. His forearms are a dusky maroon as he swings them in front of his body. Hermione jolts to a halt.   
  
"That can't _all_ be your blood," she gasps out, watching as Malfoy notices her lagging behind and comes to a stop himself.  
  
He throws his arms up in annoyance, looking for all the world a tall, angry scarecrow in the field surrounding them. His hair flashes brightly in the pale moonlight and his eyes reflect his thoughts on her actions.  
  
"Seriously? We're doing this _now_?" he complains, gesturing towards the burning building.   
  
"If that's all your blood then there's no waiting any longer," Hermione says firmly. "That should be _inside_ you!"  
  
"Thanks, Granger," Malfoy rolls his eyes- a stunning effort what with all the fresh wounds on his face. "I couldn't tell where my blood was supposed to go."  
  
"Well then you agree that we should do something about it."  
  
"That's not what I said," he huffs haughtily. "I'd rather we keep moving. My injuries aren't an imperative concern at the moment."  
  
His obstinate statement flicks a subliminal switch in the witch and she is immediately transported to every single time she's ever had to forcibly care for her boys back in Hogwarts. Now, Hermione scowls at his eerily similar stubbornness and marches forward, wand ready to cast whatever is necessary to stop the bleeding. Malfoy seems to tense at her approach and backpedals.   
  
"I can handle myself-," he begins to say, eyes narrowed and suddenly cold.   
  
She ignores him blithely, knowing he probably thinks himself too good for simple healing spells and the such and thus would never be able to care for himself in time.   
  
"Shut up and let me heal you," she grunts inelegantly, grabbing his arm to hold him in place as she rises on her tiptoes to look into his face.   
  
His hand reach out to hover at her sides as he starts in shock, gaze fixedly glaring at her forehead. Malfoy squirms uncharacteristically when she inspects the extent of his injuries. He's hell-bent on avoiding her eyes.  
  
"Granger, honestly-," he protests weakly, breath hitting her shoulder as he turns away when she leans in.  
  
Hermione doesn't let his restraint bother her. Whatever reservations he has, it can be dealt with after he's saved from bleeding out. So she presses the tip of her wand to his wounds and spells them shut, neatly stitching the large cut on his cheek back up with only a slightly unsteady hand. She clears away the drying blood from his skin and casts a few stabilising spells on his entire person when she's sure he isn't looking.   
  
_There. Not actively dying anymore are we?_

She smirks inwardly to herself as she pulls away, but then Malfoy pins her with a sharp gaze and she remembers how close they stand. She can suddenly feel his body heat and see the dark striations in his cool irises and make out the wisps of his light hair and the redness in his ears. She wrangles a breath through her constricted lungs and averts her eyes from Malfoy's questioning stare.   
  
"There we go," she says normally, without even the _smallest_ hint of hysteria. "All patched up."  
  
She rocks back on her heels and steps away from Malfoy, who in turn looks more and more confused about everything.   
  
"You just healed me," he says in an unlikely show of disconcertion.   
  
Hermione winces and shrugs. "Yeah well I resurrected you that one time. Remember? It's nothing new- you just need someone saving your incompetent arse that's all."  
  
Malfoy simply raises a brow at her blabber and chooses to stay quiet. The witch represses the urge to smack her forehead with her palm. She had to heal him. She just had to get all up in his face like Molly Weasley and _mother_ him.  
  
Stupid, _stupid_ , **_stupid_**.  
  
"I'm sorry if it offended your sensibilities," she snaps, rather miffed with herself.   
  
Hermione turns to keep running, knowing that Nott and Sadie would be worried if she is any later than she already is. She refuses to take a glance at Malfoy and forges on ahead.   
  
"I'm appalled you think me ungrateful, Granger," Malfoy calls out, jogging to catch up with her. "My silence was one of mild surprise, let me assure you. It's not every day an Order member stops to heal me."  
  
His words are the most open and genuine she's every heard from a Malfoy, and almost make her stop dead in her tracks just to make sure he isn't lying. Almost.  
  
"Could've fooled me," she mumbles instead.   
  
"Don't be that way," Malfoy laughs quietly. "You know you are my battle angel, Granger. It just a rather new concept, so forgive me for attempting to deny your care."  
  
Hermione isn't even sure if he's being serious or not, but she doesn't have the time nor gumption to press him for the truth. For what bothered him about receiving aid and care. For what he really thinks about their acquaintance.   
  
So she continues to run towards the Apparition point, unsure of when Malfoy deviates from her path. She doesn't look back even when she reaches the designated point and is met by a livid Nott and a worried Sadie. She doesn't look back even when they Apparate away, sucked into the void for a split second journey. She just closes her eyes and tries to imagine what the hell Malfoy meant by anything he ever said.   


* * *

  
She and Nott stumble heavily into their shared room, movements hindered by their stiff clothing, crusty with drying blood. The Pureblood sighs and lowers himself to the ground to sit, wincing as he does so. Hermione joins him there, leaning her head against the wall behind them.   
  
"Moody was impressed," she says, focusing on the ceiling above to quell her roiling stomach.   
  
Nott scoffs. "Don't even try."  
  
"What? He _was_ impressed! I'm actually rather surprised because he rarely ever is, but we did manage to complete the misssion successfully _and_ make it back in record time so-,"  
  
She's blabbing furiously and she doesn't know why.  
  
"Do shut up," Nott sighs irritatedly. "Moody's approval does not let you off for disappearing for a good ten minutes. What were you thinking? I almost had to send Sadie back in to the burning warehouse for you!"  
  
He seems rather miffed so Hermione doesn't snap back. Instead she tries to calm her nerves and reply in a sane, reasonable manner.   
  
"Why do you even care, Nott?" she stammers, instantly regretting her choice of words.  
  
Theodore fixes her with a piercing glare. "Really, Granger? This again? I loathe repeating myself, but since you're surprisingly slow on the uptake tonight, I'll reiterate. You are now a member of my team and I'd much prefer it if you _do_ _not_ put yourself and the rest of us in jeopardy again."  
  
Hermione scowls and begins to heal her minor wounds in an effort to gather her senses. Nott is right, of course. But she is still so shaken by the earlier events of the night that she seemingly cannot rally herself.  
  
"I made it back, that's all that matters," she mumbles.  
  
Beside her, Nott starts to heal up as well. There is no need for them to bother Madam Pomfrey with their wounds when there are others with much larger, serious issues to be cared for. The Pureblood is a little unsure as he casts the spells, but he manages to heal up to a certain extent.  
  
"You have to stop being reckless," he says tightly after several minutes of silent healing.   
  
Hermione chokes out a surprised laugh. "Thanks, _dad_ \- I'll remember your warning the next time I'm trying to stay alive!"  
  
"You- ugh. Granger, it's like you're not even deigning to try-,"  
  
"Are you saying I'm actively searching for ways to die?"  
  
"Yes! I am. Salazar, you and Potter are too much alike."  
  
"I do not look for trouble-,"  
  
"Says you. I'm the one who has to look out for you!"  
  
"You sincerely do not."  
  
Her words force the Pureblood into an argumentative corner. Nott's mouth flattens into a tight, grim line and he struggles to reply to her retort. In turn, she shoots him an angry glare and huffs, pushing strands of frizzy hair out of her eyes.  
  
Her bangs are getting too long again. Drat.  
  
Nott sighs and changes tactics. "Weasley would never forgive me-,"  
  
"You give a rat's arse about what Ron would say," Hermione snaps. "Stop this. Stop whatever this is. I can keep myself alive, thank you very much. I'm entirely capable and I'd appreciate if you could acknowledge that."  
  
"Ugh, Granger. Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn-,"  
  
"I'm just trying to help the best I can. I am clearly a dispensable soldier in this war, I'm not going to give myself airs."  
  
Nott practically gnashes his teeth as he snaps back. "Are you insane? Granger, you've gone barmy. You're too influential to be dispensable. You're the key."  
  
"Them why does no one believe in me?" she groans angrily, head thudding back against the wall.  
  
She doesn't see Nott's expression as he winces at his words, clearly not having expected to say that.   
  
"I am more powerful than Parvati and Padma _combined_ ," Hermione continues, oblivious. "But even they get upgraded to higher ranks. No one thinks I'm actually capable of getting anything done, but I am!"  
  
"Well there has to be some explanation for that," Nott reasons, looking uncomfortable.  
  
"You'd think so, but there's no logical explanation for me being so overlooked. Does Ron know how to heal his team in the heat of battle? Does Dean know how to treat a third degree burn before it renders the flesh untreatable? Does anyone here,apart from Lupin, even know how to break through a blood ward that's centuries old? Maybe they'd know one of those things and as a team they'd function well enough, but they certainly don't know all of them. And you might think me vain or pretentious to think this way of myself, but its true, dammit. And no one gives a flying _fuck_."  
  
She feels tears well up in her eyes and drops her head down to her knees to shield her face from Nott's surprised stare.   
  
"I just want to _help_ ," she whines, wincing at how her voice cracks. "I have so much to give and no one will let me."   
  
They sit in silence for a while, Hermione blinking away tears and Nott thinking deeply about something or the other. He's possibly reconsidering their sleeping arrangement.   
  
_He thinks I'm crazy_ , she sighs inwardly. _Which is fine. I don't need Nott thinking he has to look out for me._   
  
"Try and get some rest, Granger," Nott offers awkwardly, looking for all the world like he's been violently thrown out of his element.   
  
Hermione watches as he staggers to his feet and shuffles away to find the bathroom, hopefully to clean up. He stinks to high heaven. The witch sinks back against the wall and sighs. The urge to cry wells up inside her again but she tamps down on it. Crying always makes her feel hollow and wrung out afterwards. No, she needs a good cathartic duel right now, and although her mind supplies her with the perfect person for her to take out her frustratuons on violently, the thought does not make her feel better in the least.  
  
She spells away more of the drying blood, but the stench remains on her clothes. There's a knock at the door as Hermione fusses with freshening spells, and she perks up, hoping that Parvati has returned from her assignment with Neville's team. Except its Sadie. And she's _beaming_.  
  
"Oh, Hermione," she sings, crossing the room lithely, bag slung over one shoulder. "You look a little dreadful. Nott hogging the bath again?"  
  
"Yeah," Hermione replies slowly, loathe to take in the other witch's neatly showered hair and clean clothes. "You look fresh though. How'd you manage to wrangle the bath from Padma?"  
  
Sadie laughs. "Oh my goodness, you know that's impossible. She's been in there for an hour- something about detoxing bad spirits. Her team infiltrated the Carrow's library today. Anyway, I showered at Ron's."  
  
Hermione nods, only half listening. "Is that why you were on our team today and Parvati on yours?"  
  
"Because of the Carrow assignmemt? I suppose. The twins work better together, apparently," Sadie says, a little bitterly. "But being on your team is fun too. Nott's sweet."  
  
She makes a face then, pushing wet hair off the back of her neck. "When he's not ranting about you."  
  
"Haha," Hermione forces out a dry laugh. "He's a bit of a royal nag."  
  
Sadie starts unpacking her things on _Parvati's_ _bed_ , and Hermione has a nagging feeling about what might be going on. The blonde stacks a meager pile of clothes on the small cot and turns to face her, smiling.   
  
"So," she says, hands planted on her hips. "I guess we're roommates now."   
  
Her suspicions are right. Sadie is here for the long run.  
  
Hermione smiles back awkwardly. "How fun."  
  
"I know!" Sadie agrees with a little less enthusiasm. "We can spend some girl time together, after so long."  
  
Hermione isn't sure where the other witch hopes to go with this line of conversation.   
  
"I suppose," she responds unsurely, silently willing Nott to hurry back so she can escape.   
  
It's not that Sadie is annoying- in fact she's rather perfect. And that annoys Hermione. She's never one to openly dislike other women, but Sadie just always has this bright smile on her face, and her eyes are so blue, and she's always so agreeable.   
  
"So tell me, Hermione," Sadie hums, positively cheerful. "How's your down time?"  
  
"Down time?"  
  
"Yes, you know when we don't have any missions and work to do."  
  
"I mostly train... with Lupin. And watch Snape make potions and- I just mostly train."  
  
Sadie looks aghast. "Hermione, you can't be serious! You're going to run yourself into the ground. Take some time to rest and relax. It will do you good I promise."  
  
"Like you do?" Hermione asks flatly, sensing that its the answer Sadie wants.  
  
The witch flushes deeply. "Well not exactly. I mean I guess you could do as I do, but I don't think you like Ron in that way."  
  
"In what way? What do you do-,"  
  
"Oh goodness- um, I do _him_."  
  
Hermione chokes on air, slamming a palm to her sternum. "Sadie!"  
  
"Sorry, sorry! But I needed to know. You don't like him, right? I just wanted to make sure!"  
  
"What if I did? This would be an awkward way to go about checking," Hermione scowls, uncomfortable.  
  
"Well he does sleep around with Padma," Sadie rolls her eyes. "They have a thing. I don't mind, Padma doesn't _like_ him. I just wanted to make sure I could."  
  
"Like him?"  
  
"Yeah. I always thought you two were a thing, but when he started- um... sleeping around, I figured you weren't. Hermione Granger wouldn't stand that, haha."  
  
"We never were an item," Hermione says quietly, avoiding Sadie's eyes.  
  
"Oh good," the other witch sighs heavily. "I don't even think he likes me back, but I'm just checking. I don't want to create any unwanted drama- this isn't highschool. It's a _war_ and I know I shouldn't bother with these things, but it just gets so lonely, and it'd be nice to know that someone cares, you know... ,"  
  
Hermione winces as Sadie babbles on, waxing poetic on how love is the true counter to war. Inside, she feels rather nauseous, and even though she's sure she doesn't care about Ron's endeavours with women, she hasn't prepared herself for having to talk about it. _With_ said women.  
  
"He's _such_ a good kisser though," Sadie continues dreamily.   
  
Ugh. And to talk about it in such detail.   
  
Hermione blanches and struggles to interrupt the blonde's nostalgic thought process concerning Ron's lips when thankfully Nott struts into the room. The Pureblood is clean and smells vaguely of lavender- possibly a result of the cleansing concoction Luna had distributed earlier. He has a small towel around his neck and his hair is neat and spelled dry. He's dressed in a large long-sleeved tee with a snitch on it. It looks like one of George's. Almost all Nott's clothes have been donated to him by random members of the Order, irrelevant as to whether he can even fit in them. The sight is usually hilarious, but today Hermione is just plain relieved.   
  
Nott listens to one sentence of Sadie's and shakes his head firmly.   
  
"I don't care how good of a snog Weasley is, Kerrigan," he sneers shortly, clearly disgusted. "But if you wish to remain here you had best fantasize about it _silently_. And in your _head_. When I'm _asleep_ , because Morgana knows your thoughts are probably loud."  
  
Sadie squeaks and clamps her mouth shut, and Hermione bolts from the room. She hears Nott chuckle lowly as she leaves and she elbows him hard, ducking past before he can retaliate. As she leaves she hears Sadie defend Ron's perfect lips and she hopes that this is the last she'll ever have to put up with it.

* * *

  
"Do you think the boys are back?" Sadie asks, casually flipping through a manual on detecting Dark Magic traps and protective curses.   
  
"I don't know," Hermione replies, sighing.   
  
"They're due today," Sadie mumbles, early distracted. "I wonder if Ron will bring something for me."  
  
"Why would he?" Nott asks, perking up with a suspicious raised brow.   
  
Sadie flushes. "Nah, no reason."   
  
"You're more of a bint than I initially thought if you think he fancies you," Nott scoffs, resuming his lazy petting of Crookshanks.  
  
The ginger kneazle has taken to him much to the wizard's chagrin.   
  
"I don't think he does," Sadie grumbles. "But I wish he would."  
  
"I hardly see the appeal-,"  
  
"Yeah, I wouldn't expect you to either, Nott," Sadie scowls. "I just... I don't know how long I can go on with this- this loneliness. This war is depressing enough without my heart deciding to yearn for somebody."  
  
"You're two sappy sentences away from a Lockhart novel, Kerrigan," Theodore warns, scratching Crooks behind his ears.   
  
Hermione resists the urge to chuckle. She can't help but remember when she too was obsessed with Gilderoy Lockheart's racy novellas. Those were simpler times.   
  
Sadie sighs and looks forlorn. Hermione knows she isn't lovestruck. The witch is jusy lonely. And loneliness is a thorn in your side during a battle. War is long and arduous and can break the wills of even the strongest fighters. It helps to have family and close friends around you to reinforced your will and keep you going on. But Sadie has no one. Sadie Kerrigan is essentially all alone. And Hermione understands her.   
  
"It's honestly getting worse. It's like my heart might die if I have to be alone much longer."  
  
Nott yawns. "Then perish."  
  
They continue to snap at each other and Hermione tunes them out.   


* * *

  
"Expelliarmus!"  
  
Hermione sighs, watching as a second opponent's wand sails past her face. She hasn't been paying attention and had missed his sneaky arrival. Her first attacker snarls at the interruption and continues to hurl curses her way.  
  
"Watch your back, Granger," Malfoy grumbles behind her, catching the wand with ease and casting a swift exploding spell at the second Dark Wizard.   
  
She isn't sure where he came from, but she continues as if its normal. Which it sort of is.  
  
Hermione faces the man attacking her and deflects his _Crucio_ with a protective shield.   
  
"I'm a little busy at the moment," she mutters, sweat trickling down her cheek.  
  
Malfoy doesn't seem impressed. He knocks back the wizard he's battling with a sharp curse and nods when the figure doesn't get back up.  
  
"Did you just kill him?" Hermione shrieks, ducking away from a hex and retaliating with one of her own.  
  
"Does it matter?" he asks flatly.  
  
"Of course it does! He didn't even try to kill me! These are young recruits, Malfoy!"  
  
The wizard just growls, striding past her to push her attacker back with a volley of emerald green curses.  
  
"Malfoy _don't_ ," she urges, knocking his wand arm and stunning the wizard before he can hex them back.   
  
Malfoy shoves her, frowning angrily. "Granger are you stupid? He'll just come back and _kill_ you, what are you thinking?"   
  
Hermione reaches out to shove him in return, entirely unhappy with his apparent predilection for murder.   
  
"Don't call me stupid, _stupid_ ," she huffs, eyes narrowing to angry slits. "You're the one killing people-,"  
  
"This is a war, in case you forgot!" he spits out the words sharply.   
  
"I haven't! I just watched you _kill_ someone!"  
  
"Who would most happily have killed _you_!"  
  
"You don't know that!"  
  
"I think I'd know more than you- I've _been_ him!"  
  
"And now you're different!"  
  
"Granger honestly-,"  
  
"No, stop it Malfoy," she shoves him again. "You don't have to do this, you can be-,"  
  
" _Look out_!"   
  
Malfoy's hand grabs her shoulder firmly, roughly pushing her behind him as a sharp red light fills her vision. A lone Death Eater stands before them; his mask is missing and there's an animalistic, crazed look in his bloodshot eyes. The Cruciatus curse just misses Malfoy, burning the threads of his coat as it flashes past his ribs.   
  
"Traitor!" the young Death Eater screams, voice brittle, saliva flying. "The Dark Master will reward me for your pelt!"  
  
The insane, unpredictable ones are the hardest to fight.  
  
Malfoy calmly casts a protego, edging slightly to the side to cover Hermione with his larger frame.   
  
"And that Mudblood _bitch_ you're hiding will rake in some good favour for me," the young wizard continues, taking delight in Malfoy's look of thunderous anger. "Yeah, don't think I don't know who she is."  
  
He snaps forward, lightning fast, and casts three Incendios in succession. Malfoy slices through the flames with almost graceful ease- and with a snarl, he retaliates; face contorting into a frightening sneer. She can't see anything from behind him, but she can feel the chill radiating off his being. He morphs so smoothly into the _killing_ _machine_ she's heard of from the rumors about him- he is cold and heartless and it scares her.   
  
But then the Death Eater attacking them manages to dodge Malfoy's _Avada_ , and Hermione is too slow to deflect the unexpected _Sectumsempra_ coming their way. Malfoy takes the curse heavily in the chest, his breath coming out as a soft _oomph_ as he looks at her in shock, clearly taken by surprise. His shirt tears away as he begins to bleed furiously, all over.   
  
Hermione _shrieks_.  
  
She stands in shock as Malfoy's stupid, smug face is replaced by a grimace of pain. His eyes glass over and slumps down to his knees, giving up his wand to clutch at his extensive wounds. Even the Death Eater looks surprised that he managed to hit Malfoy.   
  
Hermione whirls on the man, anger radiating from her diminutive form in waves. She attacks viciously, anguish clouding her better judgment. She hacks and slashes and screams out incantations with no regard for what they do. She knocks the Dark Wizard back harshly into the far wall, firing reductos at him until the stone gives way. She watches him dodge the falling debri and scowls. He will not get away mercifully. She deflects his frantic _Explliarmus_ and casts a strong slicing hex, watching impassively as it cuts through her opponent's left arm. He screams and drops his wand.  
  
"Please," he stammers, grasping at the gaping wound helplessly. "Please... I won't fight I promise...,"  
  
He edges towards his wand nonetheless and Hermione grits her teeth.  
  
"I should kill you where you stand- you coward. You and your master are worthless filth and you will never know how much the world will rejoice to be rid of you!"  
  
There is so much anger inside her, coursing hotly through her veins and pounding mercilessly in her head. The emotion is a violent beat, moving her, forcing her, encouraging her forward. Wand poised, she feels the unforgiveable incantation on the tip of her tongue, heart itching to curse the wizard far beyond the Veil; but she hesitates.  
  
"Don't Granger," Malfoy croaks behind her, his voice a tether to reality.  
  
She clings to the sound and reels herself back in, turning to peer at him without letting her guard down.  
  
"You would have killed him," she says flatly, willing herself to avoid looking at how broken he is, bleeding steadily.   
  
"My soul is aready far too fragmented," he coughs out, staggering to his feet.  
  
" _What_? Malfoy just let me-,"  
  
"Not you."  
  
"Malfoy-,"  
  
"Not you, Granger."  
  
"Honestly? He deserves it-,"  
  
" _Avada Kedavra_!"  
  
" _Malfoy_!"  
  
She turns to watch the Dark Wizard fall before angrily rounding on Malfoy. His wand is clenched tightly in his palm, arm outstretched as he struggles to stand.  
  
"Are you seriously denying my kills?" she demands, a little hysterical at the sight of his mutilated chest and his preposterous actions. "I killed Amycus Carrow! I was _sent_ to kill him! I can protect myself!"  
  
Malfoy squints at her, equally miffed. "I _know_ you're a capable witch, Granger. But you didn't have to kill him. You don't need that strike on you."  
  
"What do you think you are? Some kind of redemption granting kill-stealer? Do you think you're doing me a service?"  
  
"You're too pure for this war-,"  
  
"And you're getting senile in your old age!"  
  
Malfoy chokes a little as she struggles to heal his cuts closed. She remembers the charm Harry told her that Snape had used to save Malfoy that time in school, and she finds herself mentally tracing his old scars from the same curse. She patches his chest well enough and takes quiet delight when he hisses in pain at her not-so-gentle minstrations.  
  
"Good," she mutters when he yelps. "That's for trying to be a bloody hero."  
  
"I thought you liked heroes," Malfoy says, and she stupidly looks up.  
  
Her eyes catch his and she is momentarily stunned by the inensity in his stare.   
  
Welp. Grey is soon becoming a colour that's sure to be her kryptonite. His gaze is questioning and difficult to read, and she remembers belatedly that her hands are still on his body.   
  
His bleeding body.  
  
Herrmione starts back into reality and scowls at the wizard, resuming her care.   
  
"You're lucky you didn't die," she mumbles, furiously cleaning away the blood on his person. "Why am I still doing this? You have hands, you can do this."  
  
Malfoy laughs. "I quite like you when you're being a smothering ninny."  
  
Hermione flushes, stepping away from him curtly. "I put Mrs. Weasley to shame."  
  
He smirks in return, wearily pressing tentative fingers to his freshly healed wounds. "You did well. I'll be fine."  
  
"You don't have to be a twisted version of a hero, Malfoy," she mutters, weaving her wand through her fingers as she avoids his eyes.  
  
"It's as close as I'll ever get," he chuckles, repairing his decimated shirt.   
  
She squints at him. "It's not necessary."  
  
"It is to me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He glances up at her with guarded eyes and shrugs. "Nosy aren't we?"  
  
"Fine," she snaps with difficulty. "Be that way."  
  
His responding smirk is so effortless and smooth that she nearly shivers at the gentle malice. "Imagine that. Hermione Granger concedes to the unknown."  
  
"You prat."  
  
"Let it eat you alive, Granger," he laughs, genuine and loud. "I want you to be so consumed by this that by the next time I see you, you'll be so strung out it'll border on insanity."  
  
"What good will that even do?" she protests, still stupidly fixated on that deadly smirk of his even though all she wants to do is _slap_ him.   
  
"Probably nothing," he shrugs. "But at least you'll understand how much stress everyone goes through to keep you alive."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're a reckless mess," Malfoy chortles, walking backwards slowly as Sadie's voice floats over to them.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Stay alive, Granger!" he winks jauntily, flipping a coin into his palm and soundlessly disappearing from her sight.   
  
"Alright there, Hermione?" Sadie asks, making her way down the stairs into the basement. "Oh shit. Did you manage these guys ok?"  
  
Hermione nods slowly and winces as Sadie takes in the dead bodies.   
  
"It's ok," Sadie whispers, pulling her teammate in for a hug.  
  
Hermione lets her, and holds on to the other witch as she tries to focus on the unfamiliar feeling in her chest and frantically puzzle it out.   
  



	6. Step One: Mass Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the response on the last chapter! I was really struggling with the flow of the story.. hope this is equally good!

 

She wakes up forcefully, arm swinging to defend herself even though her mind is still groggy with sleep. Something clasps her wrist firmly and whispers frantically for her to calm down. The moonlight from her window illuminates a tall frame, clad in an ugly, woolly sweater despite the room's heating system.

"Nott?" she asks, voice croaky and not entirely coherent.    
  
"Get your blood pumping, Granger," he whispers simply, shrouded in the semi-darkness.   
  
Beside them, Sadie is still asleep. It's 1.01 am.    
  


* * *

  
Nott holds her wrist the whole journey through the building. She isn't sure why they're moving so carefully, or why no one else is awake if something important is happening. Although she isn't sure whether what's happening is important, or if anything's going on at all. Or even where they're headed.   
  
She tries to clear away the sleep and stay alert but her eyelids are heavy and she's just a tired, pseudo-adult, weary from her nightmares and usual lack of rest.    
  
Nott leads them past the kitchen and towards the back door that leads to Molly's herb and potion ingredient garden. She isn't sure when he became so familiar with Grimmauld Place's layout.    
  
He must know the back entrance well because he casts a _Muffliato_ on the door to avoid it creaking loudly when he opens it. And then he shoves her through.   
  


* * *

  
  
It's _fucking_ cold outside.    
  
There's small freckles of snow whirling down from the sky and the clouds are so heavy and dark that it feels almost oppressive. The garden is definitely alive and thriving, and Hermione is beginning to understand how much magic is probably necessary for that.   
  
Because it's _that_ fucking cold.   
  
The frosty air hits her chest first, and her nipples almost wrinkle back into themselves from how icy it is outside. Her stupid nightclothes aren't cut out for the wintry chill and she nearly _screams_.   
  
Again, Nott seems prepared. When she opens her mouth to shriek no sound comes out and he wisely stays away from her angry hands.    
  
"The things I do for others," he mutters, pressing something into her wildly flailing hand.   
  
And then the sky is spinning and her stomach lurches as she's thrown violently out of Molly's backyard patch and into the void.   


* * *

  
"What the _fuck_?" Hermione demands from her new surroundings, restraining the urge to retch.   
  
The quiet, sparse forest is silent as she glares at it. The trees are slim and grey, poking out from a ground that is blanketed heavily by crunchy, white snow. The air is colder here and Hermione shivers hard. There's still dried gunk in her eyes from sleep and she tries to scratch it out with one hand as the other fumbles in her pockets for her wand.   
  
Which she doesn't have.    
  
Because she doesn't have pockets.    
  
Her woollen pajamas are pocketless.    
  
_Fuck_. She is essentially defenceless. And lost. And all alone.    
  
All she has is the stupid chess piece Nott gave her. She stares at it angrily. It's the white queen from a clearly expensive chess set. It's smooth and made from a milky white marble that's so pure and unblemished that it blends in with the snow around her. Fuck Nott and his possession of a portkey. How did he even find this? What is going on??   
  
A small nagging feeling tells her she might have a clue as to what could be happening.   
  
"Granger!"   
  
"Fuck you!" Hermione yells, slamming bodily into Malfoy the second she hears his voice. "I _knew_ it! You- _ugh_ , what the hell? You couldn't ask me out here? Like a normal person?"   
  
She lands two punches to his ribs and a quick slap to the shoulder before he wrangles her arms to her sides and _glares_.   
  
"Granger, shut up- no _shut_ _up_. This is serious-,"   
  
"I don't care! You.. can't.. abduct.. people! Say it with me-,"   
  
"Salazar, you are infuriating-,"   
  
"- _can't.. abduct.. people!_ Again!"   
  
"Merlin, witch," Malfoy rolls his eyes and inhales sharply, before quickly releasing her arms to clasp a palm over her mouth, stifling her loud complaints.   
  
"Listen carefully Hermione, I don't have much time. Something is happening today and it will be _massive_ ," he says urgently, voice low and rushed. "You have to stay safe. Just because you know this now, you absolutely can _not_ run after me and get involved."   
  
She widens her eyes in an attempt to protest, voice muffled behind his hand.   
  
"I know you want to- but you have to trust me," he says. "Just trust me on this one, okay?"   
  
_What in the bloody hell?_ she thinks loudly. _What is going on? What do you want? What am I here for?_   
  
"I said _quiet_. Listen. Granger. Today will change the course of everything, for better or for worse. Hopefully for the better. But I need you to stay the hell away from it. You'll hear about it, probably. But until then, you need to keep yourself and the Order as far from it as possible, for as long as you can. Can you do that?"   
  
_ No way! How can you even ask that of me- _   
  
"Granger, _please_ ," Malfoy begs, and she feels her eyes widen more as she starts in shock.   
  
He's actually begging. She can see it in his eyes. They're troubled and readable, much unlike how they usually are when he has that sharp control over his emotions. Right now, he's in a panic- and he's panicking to _her_.   
  
_Why?_ she thinks tentatively.    
  
"It's not the endgame- that's what you need to be there for. I couldn't ask you to stay away from ending the war. This... this is a precursor. The beginning. A catalyst to a series of events that will need you to succeed. Not me. You're the hero, Granger," he says sincerely, grey eyes clashing hard with brown.   
_   
No- wait what- _   
  
"I'm not going to _die_ ," he chuckles at her influx of horrific thoughts. "Hopefully. I'll try not to. I just need you safe."   
  
_But why- I don't understand_...   
  
Malfoy exhales quietly and hangs his head, his movement pushing his weight onto her as he leans against her momentarily. She steps back to accommodate him, mind churning at his words.    
  
He glances up as she backpedals and frowns, stepping forward with every step she takes backwards.   
  
"You're the key, Granger," he mutters, eyes suddenly focused very intently on hers. "The key to my plans. You're brilliant and strong and _ridiculously_ powerful but you're on the wrong side."   
  
_ I'm on the **right** side! _   
  
"Yes, but they're not doing anything correctly," Malfoy growls, walking her back until she hits a tree- the bark cutting into her shoulder blades painfully.   
_   
Then what side should I be on? _   
  
"My side," he says quietly, eyes boring through her. "But that's not where you should be now. Stay with Nott, he'll keep you safe."   
  
_ Nott? Wait... you and Nott? You're on the same... Oh my god- that bastard. You bastard. You- ugh. This is **ridiculous**. I don't need saving or protecting- _   
  
"I know, Merlin Granger, trust me I _know_. But I need you alive for a much later date and you can't deny you've been acting reckless. Is Weasley being a little snot?"   
  
_ Really? Leave Ron out of this- _   
  
"Yes, sorry," he smiles, the action crinkling his eyes so beautifully and softly that she chokes a little. "It's just easier to antagonize you."   
  
_ As opposed to? _   
  
"As opposed to what I came here to do."   
  
_ Which is? To remind me how much I need saving? Because I heard you, and I'm still not entirely sure I give a **shit** - _   
  
He kisses her partly to shut her thoughts up.    
  
And that it does, because when his palm releases her mouth to be swiftly replaced by his lips as they crash against hers in a frantic attempt to meld their faces together, Hermione blanks out so hard it's almost as if he's _Obliviated_ her.   
  
But he hasn't, because he's just kissing her- just softly and tentatively moving his lips against her own. His hands come up to hover around her face and she feels her stomach flood with nerves as the warmth he exudes seeps into her cold skin. The sensation is too fast and too sudden and too confusing. She can't do anything but stay frozen and wide-eyed as his kisses recede to small pecks and then stop entirely.   
  
She's so so so scared.   
  
Malfoy pulls back and looks severely disappointed, and it somehow _hurts_ even though she knows she didn't do anything to help and she knows she has good reason not to.    
  
"I suppose I shouldn't have jumped it on you like that," he mutters, licking his lips almost anxiously.    
  
She wants to comment on his obvious nervousness but his tongue is very distracting. Something tells her to ask him to try again, but she's so confused and still very scared.   
  
"That was wrong of me," Malfoy says, quiet again as he moves away from her so she isn't pressed up against the tree anymore. "I'm sorry."   
  
_Don't be_ , she thinks, but she knows he's no longer reading her mind.   
  
He's receding into himself; erecting those carefully constructed walls of casual nonchalance and effortless grace. She wants to stop it and make him feel comfortable again, but she isn't sure how they got here. Isn't sure what is even going on.   
  
"I obviously like you," Malfoy mumbles, eyes shifting away from hers for a second before returning to scorch her soul with its intensity.    
  
Yeah, he's still reading her mind.   
  
"I'm sorry I won't do that."   
  
"I think you've apologised four times today," she says, voice hoarse. "That's more than you ever have in your whole life."   
  
Malfoy smirks gently, obviously feeling awkward. "It's only because I know you're worried I might die."   
  
"You said you won't!"   
  
Malfoy chuckles quietly, still uncomfortable but silently relieved with her agreeable response.    
  
"For you? I'll defy death," he says dramatically and Hermione feels even more out of her depth.   
  
She has never been so confused in her life.    
  
Something in her hand starts to heat up. It's the chess piece Nott gave her, and at once she knows their time is over.    
  
When she looks up, Malfoy is staring at her sadly.    
  
"Stay safe, Granger" he says, a wry smile on his lips.    
  
The lips that just kissed her.    
  
Because he liked her.   
  
Oh _GOD_.   
  
"Just trust me on this ok," he adds. "If you can trust me, that would be enough."   
  
He nods firmly, as if convincing himself of something, and she again wishes she could dispel that disquieted look from his face.    
  
But she's frozen on the outside from the intense cold and frozen on the inside with fear, and the portkey in her hand activates to pull her back to her comfort zone. So she lets it. 

She watches carefully before the snowy forest swirls into one big smear of white, and tries to focus on Malfoy's face. His cheeks are pinked with the cold and his ears are still red, but he's so pale that she can't see his scars and that makes him look like a perfect, porcelain statue. His eyes pierce through her, heavy with unspoken emotion, and his small smile twists her insides.   
  
But that might be the portkey doing the twisting.    
  
Malfoy's pristine hair blends in with the snow as her vision swirls and then she's back in Molly's herb patch, retching into a square of Silenced mandrakes. Nott makes a sound of disgust and she knows he's waited this whole time.   
  
"You couldn't have spared a single word of warning?" she asks him bitterly, sitting back on her heels and wiping her mouth with the back of one hand.   
  
Nott shrugs carefully. "You would have been less agreeable the more you knew."   
  
Hermione ponders this and silently agrees with his assessment. "So... you and Malfoy?"   
  
The Pureblood sighs and crosses his arms. "In my defence we all thought he was bonkers at first. When Narcissa died he just flipped and defected and just went under the radar entirely. But when he found me again, about three years into the war i think... he was a man on a mission."   
  
"Three years in?"   
  
"Yeah. It's been a long time but he's still powering through."   
  
"You were still a Death Eater until recently. You said you were a spy for only six months."   
  
"You’d be hopeless at making conversation at a high society brunch. Can't you read between the lines?" Nott scoffs, shuddering against the cold. "I was a spy for the  _ Order _ for only six months before I actually joined you."   
  
"And before that? Oh… before that you spied for Malfoy?"    
  
"Bang on, Granger. It's almost like you're smart or something!"    
  
"Prat. So what... you mean to say you two have been infiltrating Voldemort's ranks on your own for so long? Just the two of you?"   
  
Nott stays silent, eyes unreadable. He casts a quick warming charm over her and she shivers as the heat embraces her body. The snowflakes are falling slower, but the cold remains. She strongly wishes they were inside with a warm mug of hot chocolate or tea. She longs for tea- they only have coffee now so that they can forcefully stay alert through the day. There's only so much Pepper-Up that can be made to facilitate a full army on the daily. Coffee? Now coffee is much easier.   
  
But today calls for tea. Or chocolate.    
  
"Can we go in?" she asks, struggling to her feet.    


"Don't you have more questions?" Nott says, surprised.   
  
"Yeah- but can't we talk over some cocoa-,"   
  
"We're not talking in  _ there _ , Granger," Nott rolls his eyes. "This is the only place where surveillance is lightest- but only because the magic harms the plants from growing well. And we can't do anything without healing potions and such. So by Molly's decree this place remains unwarded."   
  
"How do you even  _ know _ that?" she asks in wonder.    
  
"Neville told me," Nott offers with a shrug. "He's a bit of motormouth when it comes to trivia. If you point him in the right direction you'll get what you need."   
  
Hermione smacks her forehead lightly. Of course. Sweet, talkative Nev.    
  
"Ok one last question. I'm not done by any means, but if we stay out here longer I just might catch my death," she exhales, watching as it clouds up in front of her face.   
  
"I could warm you again-,"   
  
"Your spellwork is weak," Hermione shudders, body vibrating with the cold. "Anyway- did you really join the Order just to watch me?"   
  
He freezes, going as still as the sleeping garden gnomes littering the lawn, before twitching his lips minutely and huffing.    
  
"Yes. By Draco's decree. He's a man on a mission, like I said," Nott sighs. "And this is part of his plan."   


"So you spied for us as an informant for six months to build trust?"

"Exactly."

"Just to join our ranks so you can shadow me? Wait- is that why you're on my team and not off with Harry doing high priority missions and recon?" 

"Good catch," he smirks, shifting where he stands.

"All this just to watch me? That's highly unnecessary! Do you really think I need to be handled with care?"   
  
"Just until the time comes for you to _truly_ be of use."   
  
"Aren't I of use here?"   
  
"Are you?"   
  
His cursory glance makes her mildly annoyed, despite the truth of his words. It irks her to her very core to agree that she contributes so little to this war. But she can't fathom how or why that is so.   
  
"I'm capable of much more," she mumbles, visibly upset.    
  
Theodore nods tightly and gestures towards the door. "I know. So does Malfoy. But for now this is how it goes. That was also way more than one question- let's head back in."   
  


* * *

  
"Where were you two off to?"   
  
Hermione starts at the voice coming from the kitchen, jumping into the air when it surprises them both. Nott grabs his wand and steps out of the immediate view from where the voice came.   
  
Ginny Weasley sits at the small round table, looking sullen and tired and worn out. She's got heavy dark circles under her eyes and a small bundle in her arms as she sits back in a chair, seemingly falling asleep _while_ accusing them.   
  
James, the bundle in her hands, stirs a little. Ginny eyes the baby harshly until it settles back into a peaceful slumber.   
  
"Going to answer me or just stand there looking stupid?" the redhead asks, not looking up from her baby.   
  
"Um, we took a stroll," Hermione says. "Through Molly's garden. Need some stuff for Snape's next potion."   
  
"Did you not find anything?" Ginny asks, eyebrow raised as she glances at their empty hands. “I can tell Mom that she's woefully understocked.”   


“Oh no- we wouldn't want to bother her,” Hermione says hastily, shaking her head.

“It's not a bother… if there's not a single ingredient of use to you then  _ something _ is wrong-,” 

Nott clicks his tongue, interrupting Ginny. "Granger's lying. She just needed to go have a cry someplace quiet because Kerrigan won't shut up about snogging Weasley. I just came along to make sure she didn't get offed while bawling her eyes out. You know."   
  
Ginny softens immediately and shoots Hermione a quiet, sad little smile of support.   
  
"I guess both our boys are acting stupid," she says sadly.    
  
"Ron is hardly my _boy_ -,"   
  
"I haven't seen Harry since James was born," Ginny cuts in quickly, before sniffling loudly and hiding her face against her baby.   
  
Hermione immediately feels for the young witch.

“Oh Gin,” she mutters softly, coming to sit at the chair nearest to the mother. “I know it must hurt.”

“I just miss him, Hermione. And I miss _doing_ things. I want to fight but no one will let me,” Ginny bawls, biting her lip to keep from wailing. 

Hermione winces, glancing at Nott who is slowly trying to slip away unnoticed. She scowls at his attempt at departure, turning back to soothe the redhead only when he stops and stays.

“I understand, Ginny. But the baby _needs_ you-,”

“That's what everyone says!” Ginny snaps suddenly. “I know what my baby needs… he needs me but he also needs Harry. He needs a  _ father _ .”

“But Harry has to fight-,”

“Harry has as much responsibility to this baby as I do… and I have as much responsibility to end this war as he does. I lost just as much in this fight!”

“They don't want James to lose both of you, Gin,” Hermione tries to reason.

“Tonks and Lupin both fight- they leave Teddy with Andromeda. I should be fighting too!”

“You're fresh from childbirth-,”

“I had Voldemort inside my mind when I was a little girl. I can take any of the shit this war throws at me. Don't tell me I'm weak-,”

“I'm not saying you're  _ weak _ \- I'm saying that Harry just  _ cares _ … and that he's worried about your safety.”

“If he cared he'd ask me what _I_ want to do. Or be here sometimes, and help me,” Ginny sniffs away a few more tears. “Or… or something.”

They sit in silence then, Hermione smoothing the younger witch’s hair from her face while the latter cries silent tears of frustration.

“Shall I keep James for the night?”

Ginny looks up wide-eyed. “Won't you have to do work tomorrow?"

Hermione winces lightly. “I don't think so."

"Really? Padma mentioned that she has patrol-,"

"Don't you worry about that, Ginevra Weasley. You know what? If you want to release some frustration, you can duel with Nott. I'm sure he's up for an early morning training session- right?”

The Pureblood sizes up Ginny’s obviously exhausted face but sharply excited eyes and nods slowly.

“See! All good. Although I highly suggest you get some Dreamless in and sleep-,”

“No way, Hermione! I haven't used my wand to do anything except Silencios and Accios these few months!" Ginny exclaims, a new light in her green eyes. "If you're really sure about taking James, then I'd gladly take the duel.”

Hermione nods again, accepting the neatly bundled baby when the redhead passes him over.

“He usually wakes again at four and doesn't need to be fed till six because I just fed him some. You can ask Mom for help then… she'll be awake. If he's a right terror then send a Patronus my way and I'll be right up,” Ginny says all this really quickly as she snatches her wand out from behind her ear and knots up her long hair. “Just cast a few warming charms and he'll be out till four. Thank you, Hermione. You are the  _ best _ !”

With that, the redhead disappears out of the kitchen, followed by a slightly miffed Theodore Nott. Hermione stays back and cooes at James’ sleeping face for a few minutes before heading up herself. Malfoy’s actions from earlier this morning repeat on a steady loop in her mind’s eye, and she senses that James will end up getting far more sleep than she will.

* * *

 

Somehow, Ginny's pleas are answered, because Harry Potter himself has walked into Grimmauld Place at 2 in the afternoon, face set grimly and eyes disturbed beyond reasoning. He strides in with a volatile expression, flanked by two prestigious Aurors, and explicitly requests for Ron and Hermione to be brought to meet him,  _ alone _ .

Moody and Kingsley have to wrangle him relentlessly until he agrees to let them into the meeting, and when Hermione arrives everyone is tense and annoyed.

Harry greets her with a massive hug, crushing her to his chest before she can even look at him properly. But all too soon he's pulling away to clap Ron on the back and address them all.

“You're not going to believe what I'm about to tell you, but I saw it with my own two eyes and I have the memories to prove it,” he says seriously, and Hermione’s gut coils tightly.

It can't be so unbelievable, it  _ can't _ .

_ He said it was a precursor… a beginning,  _ she thinks frantically. _ Not the end _ .

She’s halfway through that thought when Harry spills his news.

“Again, you're going to think I'm crazy… but Draco Malfoy just killed Voldemort.”

* * *

 


	7. Save Thine Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing response to the previous chapter!!! You guys rock

_ The pillars of the Ministry are trembling to hold up the facade of the building, bits of the marble having been blown away from older battles. The floor is cracked and the immaculate surface of the smooth, shiny walls are covered with dust, blood and blast residue from spells.  _

_ Harry and his team are slowly making their way through the Ministry, slightly wary yet mostly in quiet determination.  _

They have been able to break into the Ministry on several other occasions, but there has always been a welcome party to stop them a few steps in. So it makes sense that they move with care and stay on their guard.

_ Harry mutters to Tonks and another Auror about his suspicions. _

_ “It's too quiet,” he says, eyes squinted in his familiar look of paranoia. “And my mark is acting up.” _

Tonks has her back to them as they view the memory, so they cannot see her expression.

_ “Do you think  _ **_he’s_ ** _ actually here?” she whispers back. _

_ Harry shakes his head and the other Auror groans lightly. _

_ “If he is, we're woefully underprepared “ the Auror says, signalling to the other four members of their team to converge at the doorway to another chamber. _

_ Harry lags behind. He has a hand to his forehead and hunches forward in visible pain. _

_ “Is it him?” Tonks asks as she takes up position near the doorway. _

_ Harry winces and manages to nod. “Don't worry it's just a feeling-  _ **_aurgh_ ** _!” _

_ He drops to his knees, clutching at his forehead and gritting his teeth in agony. Tonks darts forward to help him and even the other Aurors look torn between leaving their position and assisting their obviously hurting teammate. _

_ “Potter!” the head Auror calls in concern. “Dammit Tonks, keep the noise down.” _

_ The witch casts a Muffliato over herself and Harry and crouches beside him to soothe his back. _

_ “What's going on Harry?” she asks in panic. “Are they coming? Is he coming?” _

_ Harry moans weakly and lifts his head up with great effort. His eyes are glazed over and his nose is bleeding slightly, dribbling a thin trail of blood into his open mouth. _

_ “No,” he says, almost as if he's in a trance. “No, I can see him. He's… he's inside. We have to go… we have to down.” _

_ “Voldemort is here?” Tonks hisses, glancing around to survey their small team. _

_ “The Department of Mysteries,” Harry mutters as he slumps a little further into the floor and sits there unblinking. “He's here… and he's hurt. He's under attack.” _

* * *

 

The memory cuts forward in time, clearly Harry is modifying it as they move through it, hurrying them along to the important parts.

_ Harry is on his feet, eyes back to their normal sheen and filled with determination. They exit the lift as soon as it stops at the Atrium. Tonks flanks him as the head Auror cuts away. He signals to the rest of the team to split, leaving Tonks with two Aurors, as he takes the other two. _

_ Harry storms up through the Atrium and heads directly for the hallway leading up to the door to the Department of Mysteries. Except there's some invisible force in their way as they all slow and struggle through the hallway suddenly as if stuck in some kind of goo or a giant cobweb. _

_ Harry is wild eyed with panic and Tonks has her wand out but clearly isn't sure what to do or even what to attack. _

_ They manage pass through to the other side, and suddenly there's so much  _ **_noise._ **

_ Screams and wand-fire fill the air and echo in the chambers of this wing of the Ministry. _

_ Whatever they had passed through had been a ridiculously strong Silencing spell, as well as a Glamour charm, for everything is in disarray. _

_ There is no door to the Department; its large oak surface lies in two cracked halves, blown apart viciously. The team struggle over it and cast several hasty Protegos before inching around to survey the battle. _

_ The Entrance Chamber is beyond destroyed. _

_ The floor lifts up in jagged slopes as if rising to stab up at the air. The candles along the sides of the wall still flicker, albeit dimly, throwing distorted shadows around the circular room. Harry looks furious. _

_ “We have to stay calm,” Tonks says, sensing his anger. _

_ “Who could be here? Who could have destroyed this place before us? I don't like this, Tonks,” Harry mutters, grip tight on his wand. _

_ “Where did you say he was?” _

_ “I've never seen the room before,” Harry laments. “But I know it’s here.” _

_ But then an Auror behind them shouts in warning and they all tense up, immediately taking stances of aggression as they turn to face their would-be threat. _

_ Except it's a clear-faced female wizard in strange workwear and heeled shoes. Her hair is lopped to a short bob and she holds a wand in one hand, only mildly alarmed. _

_ “Oh great,” she says, a little miffed. “You're here.” _

_ “Excuse me? Do we know you? What are you doing here?” Tonks demands acerbically, unimpressed by the other woman’s calm exterior. _

_ “We don't know each other, no,” she replies bluntly, adjusting her coat and heading towards the ring of doors around the destroyed marble floor. “And I'm afraid I cannot answer you at the moment. We’ve got a bit of a war going on right now- you know the drill.” _

_ Harry exchanges alarmed stares with Tonks and darts forward to stop the strange witch. _

_ “Wait- we're here to defeat Voldemort!” _

_ “No you're not,” she laughs. “You're on a routine recon attempt, and you’re hardly equipped. Now excuse me, this is a major waste of my time.” _

_ She starts to look for a door to open but then seemingly changes her mind. “You lot will have to leave. It's going to get dangerous and I can't afford to let you ruin our plans.” _

_ “No way,” Harry objects vehemently. “Not until you tell us who you are, and lead us to Voldemort.” _

_ Tonks disagrees. “Harry let's just let her go and follow her.” _

_ “This room is made to confuse you. Once she opens a door, it'll shift around and we won't be able to find it again without knowing which to look for.” _

_ “Then let’s use a Point Me or something!” _

_ “The magic in the Entrance Room is broken but I’m sure the doors are still protected-,” _

_ “Harry-,” _

_ “We  _ **_have_ ** _ to get her.” _

_ “We don't know what she's capable of-,” _

_ “It's four against one.” _

_ He's never been more wrong. The second Harry casts a quick Stun towards the unknown witch, she shifts from prim and proper business woman to a keen soldier in a  _ **_pencil skirt._ ** _ She ducks Harry’s spell effortlessly and fires two spells they've never heard towards the younger Aurors. They try to evade it but the energy of the spells split into arcs like lightning, hitting everything in a six foot radius. Including them. _

_ They go down hard, crashing to the floor heavily, and Harry growls angrily.  _

_ “That was a wrong move!” he snaps, wand slashing in the air as he casts a Sectumsempra and a Reducto her way. _

_ The witch stays silent, erecting a shimmering blue shield and deflecting Tonks’ heavy Stuns. She ignores Harry’s taunts.  _

_ Tonks splits away from Harry in an attempt to divide their opponent’s attention on each of them. The woman shifts her eyes between Harry and Tonks before casting a brilliant burst of white light at the dark haired wizard and turning to tackle Tonks while he's blinded. _

_ The pink haired witch morphs twice until she settles with features akin to Bellatrix and the unknown witch steps back in alarm. _

_ This is the opening they need. Harry blasts her with a sharp Stun from behind, eyes shut but aim frighteningly accurate. Tonks watches as the witch slumps to the ground and dispassionately binds her with a charm. Harry huffs, hands on his knees as he blinks away the stars in his eyes. _

_ “That was my mistake,” he says, eyeing the fallen Aurors. _

_ Tonks clicks her tongue and rouses the Stunned witch; her wand at the ready just in case. _

_ “Now,” Tonks smirks, smug that they have the upperhand. “Tell us where Voldemort is.” _

_ The witch spits at them furiously. “Are you insane? Why would I ever? Just because you have me tied up? You lot are ridiculous.” _

_ Harry steps forward. “Sorry Tonks, but we have to do this.” _

_ Tonks frowns in confusion and opens her mouth to question the wizard when he lifts his wand and casts an dispassionate Imperius. _

_ “Tell us where Voldemort is,” he demands calmly, when the witch’s eyes have glazed over and she has succumbed to the spell. _

_ “He's in… the Love Chamber,” she bites out, clearly struggling against the hold Harry has on her. _

_ Tonks hisses out a breath of concern and agitatedly glances around them as if they're about to get caught.  _

_ “Which door leads to that Chamber?” Harry asks, twisting his wand a little more. _

_ “The one… the one right behind me,” she hisses back. _

_ “Who are you and who do you work for?” _

_ “I'm… I'm Maggie… Maggie Smith,” she grits out, clearly fighting the spell. “And… and I don't have to answer you!” _

_ She slumps forward as the spell breaks and hangs her head in exhaustion. Harry stumbles a bit at the recoil, and Tonks rallies her senses enough to Stun the witch again. _

_ “Maggie,” she hums. “Never heard of a Maggie. Sound familiar to you?” _

_ Harry shakes his head.  “No, but we've got bigger fish to fry.” _

_ “I'm sorry,  _ **_what?”_ ** _ Tonks interjects. _

_ “Muggle saying,” Harry dismisses. “Let's go revive those Aurors.” _

_ “You know I'll have to report the use of an Unforgivable back to Moody, right?” Tonks mumbles uncomfortably as they assist the fallen Aurors.  _

_ Harry nods tightly. “For now let's get into this Love Chamber.” _

* * *

 

 

_ The Chamber is ridiculously large and echo with the sounds of battle. Fire scorches the smooth white marble flooring and the mirrors along the walls are cracked or shattered completely. Chunks of porcelain litter the ground- possibly broken statues- and few bodies lay crushed beneath fallen pillars. Harry navigates the room with relative ease, his team shrouded by strong Disillusionment charms. _

_ They follow the sounds of wand fire to the main wing of the chamber, a circular room with high vaulted ceilings that are gilded with gold accents, and a large shimmering fountain in the middle that remains untouched by the fighting around it. _

_ Harry stops dead in his tracks and gasps. _

_ Several strangely dressed witches and wizards are absorbed in a vicious battle against Death Eaters, unknown spells whistling across the room. But most surprising of all is the head of white hair that dances around the wiry and pale, hulking figure of darkness in the far end of the room. _

_ “Is that Lucius Malfoy?” Tonks whispers hurriedly beside Harry, and the wizard shakes his head slowly in return. _

_ “That- that’s  _ **_Draco_ ** _ Malfoy.” _

_ The wizard in question is casting spell after spell only to watch it bounce off Voldemort’s shield of magic.  _

_ They parry and attack in a seemingly endless loop- Malfoy launching spells as the Dark Lord coolly watches, and then the monster attacks while Malfoy scrambles to hold his ground. Harry watches as the Pureblood gives up his position to dart around Voldemort’s curses and fires back, equally viciously. It's only green light that emits from their wands.  _

_ They're fighting to the death.  _

_ “We have to help him,” Harry says suddenly, and Tonks looks up in surprise.  _

_ “Are you mad?” _

_ “The others won't make it in time- not unless they find one of those witches or wizards to question. And Malfoy can't do this on his own.” _

_ “Potter! This could be a trap!” one Auror mumbles from behind.  _

_ “Voldemort's genuinely hurt,” Harry protests. “I felt it. Malfoy managed to actually do some damage.” _

_ “Harry, I don't think we should,” Tonks hesitates. “We have strict orders to only recon for now. Moody will explode- think about Kingsley!” _

_ But Harry’s mind is visibly set and he unsurprisingly breaks away from the group and throws himself into the fray. _

_ He Stuns two Dark Wizards as he passes by, using his element of surprise to clear his path. _

_ “The Boy Who Lived,” Voldemort intones suddenly from behind his unwavering shield, voice ringing across the room with sharp clarity. “I can sense your aura. Come out to play, have we?” _

Harry remains disillusioned, but still visible to those viewing the memory. They see his wince of terror, but it is swiftly replaced with a brave grimace of purpose.

_ “No matter,” Voldemort seethes. “I shall take pleasure in crushing you and young Malfoy here.” _

_ Malfoy looks  _ **_angry_ ** _. His face is bruised and bloodied and the look of rage that crosses his features makes him look eerily like his father. He whips his head around to glare at Harry but turns back to face Voldemort when he doesn't find the famous face in the crowd behind him. _

_ The Dark Lord casts a loud, crackling Cruciatus, aiming for Malfoy, who ducks and rolls away only to crash bodily into the invisible Harry. _

_ They tumble to the ground, Harry’s charm slipping, and Voldemort cackles, his voice erupting like an explosion from a dormant volcano. _

_ Malfoy swears, lifting himself off of Harry without a second glance and readying his wand as the other wizard searches frantically for his. _

_ But Voldemort no longer stands where he was. He's stumbling forward, growing in size as they watch in silent horror. His body snaps and cracks disturbingly and darkness clouds his form as his noseless face morphs into something much more terrifying. Blood red eyes peer at them from a face of darkness and a clawed pale hand cuts through the air, magic crackling in its wake.  _

_ “I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN, POTTER,” his voice booms in the chamber, disturbing the continuous flow of the golden fountain. “THERE WILL BE NOTHING LEFT OF YOU TO BE BURIED.” _

_ Harry makes eye contact with Malfoy, green eyes clashing with grey. The latter scowls. _

_ “You're on your own,” he hisses, lurching away from Harry as Voldemort’s curse comes shrieking down towards its target.  _

_ Harry scrambles backwards, scrabbling for his wand and behind them Tonks shrieks. The spell arcs towards him, lightning fast- but then something cuts through the air. _

_ “Protego Maxima!” Malfoy’s voice rings around the room, and a brilliant white light blossoms over Harry, expanding into a dome over the rest of the battle behind him, almost as fast as Voldemort’s spell comes hurtling down. _

_ The curse cracks thunderously, bursting into an explosion of light as it comes into contact with Malfoy’s massive shield, and in the few seconds that everyone is blinded, the spell rebounds.  _

_ Harry opens his eyes just as the curse hits the Dark Lord right where his shoulder should be, and the hulking figure howls in pain. The sound is eerie, like nails on chalkboard; haunting as it is bloodcurdling. Harry seems to recoil in pain, his mark burning from the Dark Lord’s hurt. _

_ Malfoy remains outside the shield, and when Harry tries to join him he finds himself knocked over by the shield. It's solid, blocking everyone from entering Malfoy’s fight. So Harry watches, shouting angrily to be allowed to help, as the blond wizard casts an anti-apparition ward. He carefully circles Voldemort as the figure convulses with the effect of his own curse. Malfoy seems to be waiting for something… or searching.  _

_ Harry watches carefully, and clenches his jaws in anticipation as he sees the blond pick up a wand from the floor. A sinking feeling floods his guts and he starts to shift in place impatiently. _

_ “That’s Voldemort’s wand,” he mutters to himself before tearing himself away from the scene to turn slowly to face the rest of the room. “Tonks! Take the others and go! Go, go!” _

_ The strange witches and wizards behind him look prepared to leave, swiftly disApparating as Malfoy’s voice rings out loud and clear in the now silent room. Death Eaters scramble away frantically, also sensing the incoming doom. Harry leaps forward, throwing himself behind the fountain for cover, just as Malfoy finishes his incantation. He peers around the structure to watch as the emerald curse hits it’s mark, glowing brightly as the Dark Lord’s form absorbs the spell. The monster howls for an excruciating two seconds before exploding violently, dark magic screaming through the room like lost souls desperately escaping a void. The darkness pushes everything in its way outwards, toppling pillars and other large chunks of debri, but the fountain holds still and Harry hunches behind its basin, safe. _

_ When the dust clears, Tonks and the other Aurors rush in, huddling around Harry as he clambers over the fountain. The shield around them slowly disintegrates and then see Malfoy standing exactly where he had been, covered in entirely in dark residue, staring at the place the Dark Lord had last stood alive. He turns slowly to meet Harry’s eyes and the two of them hold the gaze. _

_ “I can’t believe it,” Tonks mutters. “He’s really gone isn’t he?” _

_ This seems to break the spell, and Malfoy looks away. He nods tersely at them in general before disApparating from sight, leaving Harry and his team to stand alone in the broken Love Chamber, coated with the remnants of the Dark Lord’s evil being. _

* * *

 

When they exit the Pensieve, Hermione feels nothing. She is so shocked and confused and all she can do is sit heavily in the nearest armchair and stare listlessly at one of the warded windows. Ron paces the room in silent disconcertion and Harry leans back against a table to watch their reactions.  

Moody scratches his chin and looks to Kingsley for a response.

“This is… very difficult to believe,” the head of the Order of the Phoenix says after a moment of thought to himself.

“It does sound rather ridiculous,” Moody agrees. “The Malfoy brat taking down the man we've been trying to kill for years? Not bloody likely.”

“But you saw it,” Harry protests, eyes glinting. “You saw what I saw.”

“What  _ I _ saw was Malfoy making Voldy poof into smoke,” Moody shrugs.

Kingsley is a little more stern. “What I saw was the use of an Unforgivable by our very own poster child.”

Ron scoffs indignantly. “Are you serious? Mate come on.”

Moody shoots him an icy glare. “We're not your  _ mates,  _ Mister Weasley.”

“But… I mean, that's obviously not what's important here!”

“You should let us decide that,” Kingsley says dismissively.

Moody is a little more offended by Ron's words and he becomes a little hostile. “You'd do best to remember your place here, Weasley. The only reason you're even at this rank is because we need someone close to Harry so he won't feel too alone.”

 

It's the wrong thing to say.

Kingsley inhales sharply and swiftly cuts in. “Mister Weasley, why don't we discuss your concerns-,”

“You're kidding right? You only sent me out there so Harry didn't feel sad?” Ron frowns, face reddening. “What about Hermione? Did you have to pick me over her? The disposable duo?”

“Moody, this is a new low,” Harry intones quietly from where he stands against the desk, brows furrowed. 

“Wait.... wait, wait. So you didn't even think Ron was capable of fighting? That I wasn't capable of fighting?” Hermione interrupts, rising to her feet to level the elder members of the Order with a glare of her own.  “You didn't even bother to check if maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ we had some potential?”

“We have professional Aurors, Miss Granger,” Moody sighs mockingly, as if their anger is wholly misdirected and blown out of proportion. “Why would we depend on children? We need you for the minor battles of course, as we need everyone. But your place is not at the forefront.”

“But surely we've shown some promise by now?” Hermione insists, her insecurities bubbling to the surface and manifesting as anger. “I mean, Ron and I got Greyback.  _ Greyback _ ! That has to mean something!”

“This is not the concern at hand, however,” Kingsley says as he attempts to manoeuvre the heated conversation to more friendly waters.

“No, wait,” Ron interjects with a sneer. “I want to hear more about how disposable we are. Apart from Harry of course.”

Harry frowns at his friend. “I didn't know any of this!”

“I know. And I would have willing followed you to the front lines of this war, as would Mione. And Gin, and Neville and Luna and everyone else. But _you_ , you Aurors had to come in between us and mess everything up. What's the bet your stupid machinations are what pushed this war on for so long?”

“How dare you-,” Moody begins to roar, stomping forward heavily on his single leg. “You cannot begin to fathom what's necessary when fighting such a deranged foe!”

“Oh have you forgotten?” Hermione seethes. “We fought him  _ first.  _ Harry, Ron and I. We broke into Gringotts  _ and _ the Ministry. We had to defend our school and find horcruxes all on our own-,”

“Fat lot of good those horcruxes did, eh?” Moody glowers, glass eye rolling wildly. 

Kingsley groans and tries to elbow into the quickly deteriorating conversation.

“I think we should all think rationally-,”

“I killed Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione offers, a little concerned about it after the words are out there.

Everyone stares at her, unsure of what to do. Harry looks concerned and Ron looks extremely proud. Moody is turning a peculiar shade of purple and Kingsley brings a hand to rub at his temples. 

“Miss Granger, you're clearly mistaken- Lucius Malfoy was found dead with  _ more _ than one Killing Curse upon his person, and I know you are a smart witch but that kind of violence is rather unlike you-,”

“You seem to know nothing about us!” Hermione exclaims. “Kingsley we were born into a war. We had a criminal abduct our teacher-  _ that _ teacher right there- and teach us the Cruciatus with live display. Harry was tormented by Dementors, Ron had to suffer giant spiders and I got petrified by a basilisk that tried to  _ kill _ all the Muggleborns in our school! We solved the mystery about Professor Quirrell when Voldemort first returned and  _ you all _ didn't believe us. We found his horcruxes and  _ you _ failed to finish him off.”

“A very passionate speech, Miss Granger,” Moody drawls.

“And it was four Killing Curses. I killed Lucius Malfoy with four Avadas right to the chest.”

Kingsley exhales heavily and hangs his head. “What do you want us to do with these concerns? Punish you? Take action? Be stricter?”

“Let us fight!” Ron exclaims, annoyed at their stubborn aversion to understand. “Let us into your decision making.”

“That's preposterous,” Moody laughs and the trio turn to face Kingsley with hope.

“I wouldn't be alive today without them, Kingsley,” Harry offers. “They contributed to everything I ever did. We're more than just kids and I'm more than a symbol of hope- we can be the key to winning this thing.”

Hermione stills at Harry’s words that sound very much like what another wizard told her not hours ago. 

But Kingsley shakes his head sadly and looks to the side. “I will have to agree with Alastor about this. You are far too young to be involved with a war so dangerous. We need you for the future.”

Harry’s eyes darken considerably and he steps back stiffly. “Then this meeting is over.”

He crosses the room without waiting for anyone to dismiss them and Moody scoffs, clearly annoyed.

“Actually, we're not done. We would like to review your memory with the rest of the council,” Kingsley ventures, gesturing for Harry to accompany him through to another chamber. “We can call a meeting now.”

Harry doesn't bother to even look back at him as he strides for the door, beckoning for Ron and Hermione to follow. “Sorry Kingsley, you'll have to give a verbal account. I hope you can remember everything. Now you'll have to excuse me, I’m going to go meet my wife.”

* * *

 

 

“Do you think he's actually dead?” Ron asks, leaning against the wall of her room.

Sadie is blessedly missing, probably still listening to the gossip circulating the building. Theodore is also not to be found. Harry and Ginny have left to talk more privately and have been gone for an hour now. Hermione holds James to her chest and ponders Ron’s question.

They've been ranting so intently about the Order for the past hour and a half that she's almost forgotten what Harry had initially come here for.

“I don't think so,” she says with finality.

“How come?” 

_ Because Malfoy told me. _

“Are your superior brain cells seeing something us plebs cannot see?” Ron adds after she remains silent for a while.

Hermione laughs at his words and shakes her head. “No. I just think that it can't be that easy. Remember when we thought he'd die after we destroyed the horcruxes?”

Ron frowns at the memory of the Battle of Hogwarts and sighs. “I suppose. So you think he's just… what? Disappeared for a while?”

“No, I think he's dead,” she says.

“Didn't you just say-,” 

“Just not  _ dead _ dead.”

“Wow,” Ron deadpans. “Is that your professional opinion?” 

Hermione reaches for a pillow and throws it towards him, careful not to jolt James. The baby continues to sleep and Ron easily ducks the lumpy projectile, chuckling to himself.

“You're extraordinarily un-bookworm-ish about this,” he observes, and Hermione scrunches up her nose in reply.

“Don't want to solve this mystery?” he prods, still smiling stupidly.

Hermione huffs and lifts her chin imperiously. “I doubt Kingsley will appreciate my efforts.”

“Come  _ on _ , ‘Mione!” Ron wheedles, ignoring her. “It'll be just like the old days!”

She watches him pout and relents. “Oh alright, you big baby. I should make you just do it yourself, you know. Just to see how far you get alone.”

Ron laughs and sits opposite her on Sadie’s bed as she carefully places James on a section of her bed that's pushed up against the wall. 

“Where do we start?” Ron asks, and when Hermione looks up to catch his excited expression and determined eyes, she is transported back to the good old days. 


	8. Riddle Me This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I MESSED UP THE LINE SPACING so i corrected it im sorry you guys had to read that mess. 
> 
> i'm baack! thanks for the response to the last chapter you guyssss :')  
> Just so you guys know I didn't know Sadie was not a canonical character. I feel like I got confused with a few fics I'd read and I really thought she was an obscure background student haha. 
> 
> Also Maggie Smith the mystery witch got her name from the amazing Dame Maggie Smith because I felt bad for killing McGonagall off eeeep

“So Malfoy killed Voldemort,” Ron begins, scratching his chin as he starts to attempt to unravel the happenings of earlier today.

Hermione frowns. “Well, we can't be too sure about that. Moody did have a point when he said that we only saw him disappear in smoke.”

 “The guy _exploded_ ‘Mione!” Ron persists. “He blew up into Dark Magic bits.”

 “Hmm, maybe if someone goes down to check the residue they'll find some answers.”

 Ron shrugs. “Sure. But it legitimately looks like the jerk is dead.”

 “So is that it? The war is over now?” Hermione asks, rolling her eyes. “That can't be the end of everything, it can't.”

 “Do you not want the war to end?” Ron asks jokingly.

 “Of course I do! I just don't think this is it though. Six years of fighting and Malfoy takes him down in one fell swoop? No… there has to be something else.”

 That and the fact that Malfoy himself _told_ her that it wouldn't be the end.

 “True,” Ron considers. “I mean, why would Malfoy want to fight Voldemort anyway?”

 “He did defect,” Hermione offers slowly, knowing that it's commonplace knowledge by now.

 Ron scowls. “Ah yes… that fiasco with the payload years back. That nuisance. I suppose we ought to thank him now though. Still doesn't make sense why he turned on old Voldy like that.”

 She shrugs lightly, unsure of the answer. “His mother was killed apparently.”

 “I thought she fled? Rumor has it she's hiding in Norway with her ghastly husband- but I suppose that's false cause you killed him.”

 The redhead grins at her, beaming with pride, and Hermione releases an awkward sigh. She should not have released that information. She also isn't sure if she should feel so proud. It was Malfoy's _father_ … no matter how horrible he had been. She doesn't voice her discomfort, however, and just accepts Ron’s praise silently.

 “Bloody marvelous job, ‘Mione,” he appraises her, smile warm. “But since you did off him, I suppose Narcissa being in Norway is a bit of a stretch.”

 “Why? I mean she could be there alone-,”

 

“Narcissa Malfoy? Pureblood princess and the darling of the House of Black? She wasn't brought up to be badass, Hermione,” Ron laughs. “Pureblood women are basic high society wife-material.”

 The witch shrugs again, squinting her eyes at the generalization. “Whatever, so she’s dead. Maybe she's missing. We can ask Nott he'll know.”

 “Sure,” Ron agrees, steering them back towards their original goal. “Either way, Malfoy snapped and turned what… did he turn _good_? Morally ambiguous? Middle ground grey?”

 “I suppose. He made his own side.”

 Hermione thinks about his words from the forest and is immediately flooded with memories from that exchange- the cold, the snow, his panic… his lips. The warmth.

 She shudders involuntarily.

 “I can't believe we owe the ferret,” Ron laughs incredulously. “But who were those folks with him? That Maggie was… _feisty._ ”

 “The ones in the suits, yeah?” Hermione perks up. “They look _so_ unfamiliar. I've never seen witches in clothes like that- it's almost _muggle_.”

 Ron bursts in guffaws of laughter. “They weren't muggles, ‘Mione!”

 “Honestly, Ron. I said they had clothes similar to what muggles wear. I saw them use magic to help Malfoy. And when they battled Harry. Do keep up,” she snaps, truly feeling like they are back to their old way of doing things. “But where are their robes? Even French wizards and witches wear robes- remember Madame Maxime?”

 Ron ponders this, even though he's still chuckling at his earlier presumption. She rolls her eyes at his antics and leans back to gently pat baby James’ chubby tummy as he sleeps behind her.

 “I think,” Ron says slowly. “That they are… some... secret organization... that came to help Malfoy.”

 “ _What?_ Ron that makes no sense,” she groans, slapping a palm to her forehead. “Maybe they're from another country.”

 “You're probably right.”

 “I'm sure I am.”

 “No need to get snotty,” Ron huffs indignantly. “And I'm only agreeing because their accent was rather funny.”

 “Their accent? Their accent! Ron, that’s absolutely brilliant! We have to find Harry, come on!”

 

* * *

 

Harry and Ginny try very hard to not look like they had just been doing unseemly things in the kitchen, but their faces are red and Harry’s glasses are askew and Hermione doesn't have the heart to tell Gin that the love bites on her neck have begun to show. 

“I'd say they _did_ have an accent,” Harry mumbles, adjusting his shirt. “But I didn't quite place it.”

 “Would you review your memory for us again? If we can place who's helping Malfoy maybe we can begin to understand what he's doing,” Hermione asks, studiously avoiding Ginny’s flushed face.

 “I will, yeah… memory reviewing. Yes,” Harry hastily agrees and nods feverishly.

 “Did you tell Gin what's going on?” Ron asks as he squints at his sister. “You look sweaty- is Malfoy killing Voldy making you feel a little sick? Anyone else? Cause it's making me sick and Gin looks like she's _dying_ so- Hermione? Harry?”

 Harry chokes on air and shakes his head animatedly. “I'm fine. I saw it happen. Much worse then. I mean it makes sense.”

 “How?” Ron puzzles, seemingly oblivious to Ginny's clear discomfort at them all being there.

 Hermione chuckles and desperately tries to not burst out with tears of laughter.

 “Because,” Harry laboriously explains, struggling to string words together. “Because Voldemort is _scary._ And you gotta be really serious about going up against him. To actually do it.”

 Ron snorts. “Where the bloody hell did Malfoy find that reserve of bravery? Buried in his Manor’s backyard? A last resort in case their evil goes awry?”

 The redhead seems really proud of his sarcastic remarks and Hermione lets out the giggles she's been restraining. Ginny narrows her eyes at the other witch and sighs, knowing it's only going get worse the more Ron remains oblivious.

 “You alright there, Gin?” he asks his sister. “Looking a little beat up. Did Mom refuse to heal you? What is that?”

 Ginny snaps then, rolling her eyes and slapping her palms on the kitchen table. “Ronald! Get out! Harry and I were _busy._ And I'm not sick- I'm incredibly _frustrated_ because I have to deal with you three being super detectives when I could be _kissing_ my _husband._ ”

 Ron squeaks and looks between the two rapidly, his head snapping from side to side as he surveys their serious, albeit a little awkward, faces.

 “You _are_ interrupting, mate,” Harry points out at Ginny’s behest when she elbows him in the side to help her case.

 Hermione chokes on her laughter and rises to her feet, lightly pulling a shocked Ron out of his chair as well.

 “James needs some company,” she chortles. “And we can figure this out on our own, so have fun. Oh but Harry? Please try and get me into the crew that'll go down to the site!”

 Ginny waves her away hurriedly, the annoyance in her face swiftly morphing to impish mischief now that her interruptions are taking their leave.

 “Yes yes, I'll make sure he will,” she smirks sinfully. “But you better walk faster unless you want to see things you really could live without seeing.”

 Ron gags noisily and hurries out before Hermione does, grumbling all the way about hussy sisters and gross best friends.

 

* * *

 

The site is more chilling than it had been in Harry’s memory. Hermione surveys the darkened chamber, body reeling at the massive influx of dark power remaining in the space. The striations of residue across the walls and floor aren't entirely still- they writhe in place, making the whole chamber look as if something is crawling all over its demolished surface. 

Hermione stands by the untouched fountain and winces. She isn't sure why the room smells so strongly of wood fire and pine. When she asks the other Aurors about it they just stare at her like she's the stupidest addition to their team- which they probably think she is. 

“Just lets us handle this and stay in your safe spot, okay hun?” the older witch says, sounding genuinely concerned and a little distracted. 

She shifts away from Hermione and continues passing her wand over the dark magic residue, checking for… whatever she's checking for. 

No one has told Hermione anything. The only reason she's here is because Kingsley let Harry guilt trip him. She's here out of pity and the hopes that she'll drop their concern from the argument earlier. This pisses her off _immensely._  

Hermione scoffs at the Auror’s advice and waits till she's fully absorbed in her work to slowly sneak away from the fountain. She follows the trails of darkness until they thin out at the outer ends of the room. It's strange to think that Voldemort could really be dead.

She takes in a shaky breath and slips through a door, making her way back into the Entrance Chamber. A noise from some part of the room startles her and she immediately is on guard. All the Aurors are either concentrated inside the Love Chamber or stand in a safety perimeter outside the remains of the Department of Mysteries. She grabs her wand and creeps forward.

A tall figure hunches between the torn up floor, reaching between the giant cracks in the marble. It stands up, and even though there's a Disfiguring charm on the person, she knows its Malfoy.

Her first instinct is to say something snarky and walk up to him, but she hesitates. She has yet to know anything about him. Never in the meetings has she ever been able to get an answer about why he was there or how he even got the information. So she hangs back behind a pillar and watches. 

Malfoy stretches lazily and throws a quick glance at the direction of the door to the Love Chamber. He seems to be aware that there are Aurors crawling all over, but as is usual for him, he remains unperturbed. 

What a cocky wizard.

He flicks his wrist, casting what seems to be _Accio_ spells over and over. He must be searching for something that they'd left behind from the battle this morning. Hermione glances around, trying to spot what Malfoy could be looking for.  

She sees it immediately; a slim wand that's wedged in tight between two chunks of debris. It's directly in her line of sight… but also all the way across the room, past Malfoy. She has to get to it first. 

But she also needs information from the wizard. She can't leave this place today without knowing at least _something._  

An idea springs to mind and she finds that she is rather impressed with it. She casts a wordless Gemino curse, watching as the wand replicates itself where it is wedged into the ground. She makes note of which the original wand is and casts an Evanesco on it; leaving only the duplicate visible. She then contemplates the rest of her plan.

She cannot sneak past Malfoy for sure, but she _can_ distract him.

Smirking, she stalks forward, casting a Mufflatio around the entire space so as to give them some privacy. Malfoy feels the spell set and spins around with his wand drawn. 

“Salazar, woman,” he gushes when he sees her. “Did you _want_ me to kill you?” 

But she ignores his exclamation and strides right up to him. 

“How _dare_ you, Draco Malfoy?” she near shrieks, reaching up to smack her palm against his cheek.  

“What the-,” 

“How dare you just kiss me and leave?” she continues to rage. 

“I'm sorry,” he stammers, massively confused. “I didn't think-,” 

“And then I hear you took on _Voldemort by_ _yourself_? How dare you make me worry?”

 “Granger I- wait. You were worried about me?” he smirks slowly, his confusion melting into an expression of smugness and a smidgeon of suspicion. “So you aren't so resistant to my charm after all.”

 “You _promised_ me you wouldn't die,” Hermione sighs, hiding her head to cover her scowl.

She so desperately wants to snark back at his cocky face. His pretty, cocky face. Ugh. Her priorities are _so_ messed up right now. 

“And I didn't,” he says proudly, smirk spreading into a toothy grin. “I don't know what you've  heard, but the Dark Lord _died_ , and I'm standing here all in one piece.” 

“He died?” she asks, eyes wide and mouth open ever so slightly- the very picture of innocent surprise. “He- he's really dead?” 

Malfoy nods, frowning at her with a strange smile. “Yeah Granger… are you alright? I've never seen you so... ditzy.” 

“I'm just surprised,” she defends herself, trying not to get aggravated. 

“That I was able to pull it off?” he retorts, no doubt waiting for her to snap back at him as she usually does.

Hermione restrains from doing so and instead lets her hand brush his chest, landing against his sternum as she exclusively concentrates on looking at her fingers and not his face. She feels his muscles tighten with tension at her touch, and she wills herself not to shiver at any unbidden memories. 

“It's hard to believe that everything is over. It's… it's difficult to come to terms with. I- I can't believe you're not dead. I just can't believe it's all _over_.” 

She can sense Malfoy isn't buying her aloof persona. He probably expects a barrage of questions from her- as is her _modus_ _operandi_ \- and has steeled himself to give nothing away. And now… now he's suspicious that she's not asking anything. Hermione slaps herself mentally, preparing to regroup and recover when she hears Malfoy clear his throat awkwardly. 

“I wouldn't say it's _over,_ ” he mutters, stepping away from her.  

 _Yes! Stay calm, keep going..._  

“What do you mean? I just saw the residue… there can't be any way he can return from that, right?” Hermione responds with a light laugh, mind churning with tepid thoughts even as she reaches for his arm. 

“There… there might,” Malfoy allows, still looking uncomfortable. “We’ve been informed about some _fail-safes_ that the Dark Lord might have had.” 

“Like horcruxes?” she asks, with bated breath. 

Malfoy sucks in air through his teeth, glancing away from her. “It's a little complicated, and I can't say. It's better if you don't know anyway-,”

This is the last time she can hear about her worthlessness today and it incenses her beyond belief. 

“What do you mean it's not relevant to me?” she hisses venomously. “Because I'm a useless, disposable witch?”

Malfoy squints his eyes at her. “Noo… because you won't be able to do anything with this information right now.”

Shit.

Malfoy catches on to her hesitance and pushes in, entirely too suspicious for her liking  “Come off it, Granger. What are you playing at?”

“Nothing I-,” 

“Hermione Granger you're the worst liar I've ever seen.” 

“Why can't I be confused about what's happening?”

 “Because you're supposed to be _smart_ -,”

 “Fine! I wanted to know what your endgame was with this _stupid_ and _reckless_ move!”

 He looks positively destructive. She backpedals hastily, watching as his eyes darken and his demeanor changes. He scowls in annoyance and reaches for his wand.

 “You tricked me!”

 “You were dumb enough to fall for it,” she taunts in return, ducking his advance and racing past him.

 “That's not fair!” he growls, blasting a Jelly-Legs Jinx that misses her by a hair's breadth. “You're supposed to play nice!”

 “Me? Play nice?” Hermione chortles. “I play nice, sure. Are you forgetting that _nice_ , broken nose I _gifted_ you that one time?”

 Malfoy chuckles in spite of his anger. “Fine. I'll give you this one. But this isn't fun and games, Granger. I have reasons to keep this quiet.”

 “Well upgrade your defenses-,”

 “You should upgrade yours,” he snorts, still tailing her as she moves towards where the wand is. “You have zero mental defenses and your mind is an open book.”

Hermione snaps to a halt, whirling around on a heel so suddenly that Malfoy crashes into her in surprise. 

“Maybe I just need a teacher,” she says, not at all distracted by his eyes that are so so close to her face. 

Malfoy swallows lightly, and in his moment of distraction, she casts a wordless _accio_ towards the visible wand. The wizard in front of her doesn't notice- possibly too caught up in their proximity.

 “Nice try, Granger,” he says, still staring at her eyes. “But I just told you that you were too easy to read.”

He drops down faster than she can move and grabs for the wand. 

“Malfoy!” she protests. “I found it first! Back up!” 

But the blond just smirks as he ducks away from her flailing arms, his face the perfect expression of smugness.

“You shouldn’t have gone up against a master Legilimens with _zero_ mental barriers, Granger. That’s a green mistake. Has Severus taught you nothing?” 

She grits her teeth and channels annoyance at him, trying not to think about what Severus has taught her. She distracts herself by focusing on his annoying face and raises her wand threateningly. 

“Hand me the wand or I'll alert everyone you're here,” she growls, squinting her eyes as he smirks back.

“Tell me how that goes when they question you and you spill everything and get yourself in even more trouble,” Malfoy sneers playfully, comfortable as he spins the wand in his hand.

 He dispels her Muffliato himself and stands in the chamber, waiting for her move. Hermione scowls back- she doesn’t _need_ to call the Auror’s on Malfoy and she can’t afford being questioned, but she _hates_ the smug look on his face. So she shoots him a wry smile and sighs. 

“Fine, you win,” she allows, ignoring the way his face lights up at her words. 

“Hermione Granger conceded to me? _Me?_ Aren’t I a lucky sod. I will cherish this memory till the day I die,” he smiles.

She waits till he activates his portkey and leaves before wrangling the original wand out of the floor. Its slim and clearly unique- the wood is very unfamiliar. She knows this is a big break.

 _I really hope you remember today, Malfoy,_ she thinks, blood thrumming happily that it almost renders her giddy. _Master Legilimens? I think not._

 

* * *

 


	9. The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eep. I liked this one. let's see how it goes.  
> i also didn't know how much i needed the trio in this story.

She can't seem to get his face out of her mind. 

That smug smile that used to infuriate her in her school years now just kind of makes her  _ breathless.  _ In a weird way.

She doesn't want to think about that day in the forest. It will not do her any good to think about that day, and how he brought her there to warn her and held her face as he kissed the living daylights out of her and then told her he liked her-  _ good lord. _

She blushes hard as she stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hermione Granger is confused. And frazzled. 

It's been a rough few years and it shows on her face. She's got a nasty scar right at her jaw, her collarbone is marked with ghastly old scab. Her hair is slowly growing back but the ringlets are far from tamed and it frames her face in a boring way- no longer cut by a hairdresser that knows how to flatter her round facial features. She feels… boring. 

Basic.

A little annoyed and very tired.

So she's confused because she can't understand why anyone would look at her and then think about kissing. Kissing her nonetheless!

Her reflection stares back unamused.

This doesn't make any sense. Malfoy looks great compared to her. He's filled out his skinny boyish looks and now he's broad-shouldered and tall and his eyes are so peculiar and compelling and that crooked smirk never fails to make her gut wrench- he's just ridiculously good looking. 

And she's not.

So why in the seven blazing hells did he kiss her?

_ Because he likes you, you walnut,  _ her mind supplies.

She winces. That's probably true, but then why did he like her? And how? 

She can't answer these questions and she's too nervous to even think of ever asking him. So she settles on the one question she can answer.

Does she like him back? 

The very thought makes her wince again. 

No, she decides. Liking Malfoy would be a very bad thing. A very, very bad investment of her heart.

He looks like he's turned into the kind of person who would love you so entirely and wholly, with so much passion until that's what you'll always associate with the word love- and then he'll leave you sad and hopeless and broken because  _ you deserve better _ and he's  _ a useless wreck. _

Hermione curses her vivid imagination and shakes herself out of the petty thoughts consuming her mind. 

No. Harry and Ron would be devastated. And she has bigger priorities.

So she grabs her wand off the sink ledge and exits the bathroom to face the boys. They sit across Ginny’s bed; Harry with James in his arms as the baby babbles and chortles, and Ron seemingly distracted by a pack of diapers.

“So?” she asks. “Find anything yet?”

“Sure,” Harry offers, adjusting his round glasses as James attempts to nick them. “While you were off searching for Narnia in the sinkhole, Ron and I figured out where Maggie, and her wand, is from.”

“How do you know it's Maggie’s?” Hermione huffs at his sass and takes a seat on the floor.

Harry shrugs. “To be honest I didn't notice it when I first saw her, but I got a better look at the details when we were in my memory.”

“Who cares, though?” Ron interrupts. “We cracked the mystery.”

Hermione snorts loudly. “You mean you asked Charlie?”

“What- no,” the redhead protests. “Why couldn't we have found this out on our own?”

“Cause we've never even left the UK?” Hermione suggests, raising a brow. “At least not to visit other magical persons. Charlie’s the only person we know who'd have seen foreign wands.”

Ron mumbles something about know-it-alls and Harry laughs.

“Right on, Hermione,” the latter smiles. “And guess what Charlie said? It's a common American wand.”

James claps happily and burps, making Harry look weirdly proud for some reason.

“Some guy called Jonker made it, he said,” Ron adds. “It's easy to notice cause of some pearl inlay. A lot of Charlie’s American clients have similar wands and they all are from the same wandmaker. This Jonker guy has boring wand designs if you ask me.”

“It's not the design Ron,” Hermione muses. “It's a signature- or a mark. So he'd be recognized. And it worked!”

Harry nods solemnly. “Malfoy has the Americans on his side.”

They stare at each other in awe until Ron shakes his head in utter disbelief.

“The wanker,” he mutters. “He chooses the wrong side, gets tormented by this maniac, loses his parents and then manages to shift the entire war with a secret, foreign army- and we're here being nannied by Kingsley.”

Harry bursts out into laughter at that, genuinely surprised at Ron's humor. His laugh startles James who promptly starts to cry until Hermione takes him into her arms.

“I can't believe you're impressed by Malfoy,” she gasps, soothing the baby with small kisses.

Ron just shrugs.

“Maybe we  _ should _ go easy on him,” Harry suggests. 

Hermione starts, anxiously watching her friend’s features. “Why? I mean- I thought you'd be a bit suspicious of him.”

Harry laughs again, quieter this time. “I would be if I was still in Hogwarts, true. But he did save me from Voldemort and so did Narcissa. It's a pity she's dead. I never got to thank her.”

“Her husband  _ did _ try to kill me,” Hermione huffs. “In case you forgot.”

“Exactly,” Harry chuckles. “But I would have died yesterday and Malfoy kind of rescued me- even though he didn't seem like he wanted to.”

“You did interrupt his massive scheme, mate,” Ron points out. “He must have been bloody pissed.”

“Are you falling in love with Malfoy? What are you doing?” Harry frowns. “Stop defending him so much.”

The redhead pretends to gag, making James chortle happily. “Don't go  _ there.  _ Just cause I can appreciate his turnaround doesn't mean I've forgotten he's a sleazy, snot-nosed ferret.”

Hermione laughs hysterically and hides her face. “I think he's a bit less sleazy though.”

Ron eyes her for a second and then bursts into a grin. “Sure, ‘Mione. Good one.”

 

* * *

 

Nott looks pretty miffed when he comes into their shared dorm later the following day, and she's sure Malfoy has informed him that they have the wrong wand. She shoots him an innocent smile and pretends to not notice his accusatory glare. 

“Don't play dumb, Granger,” he mutters. “Hand it over.”

“Hand what over?” she asks blithely, flipping the pages of her book with care. “I'm not even halfway done with this book.”

“I'm  _ talking _ about the wand.”

“What wand?”

Nott rolls his eyes quite violently and sighs. “The. Wand. That. You. Stole.”

Hermione shakes her head at him and frowns. “Mmm, I don't know what you're talking about.”

Nott grits his teeth. “Fine.  _ Accio  _ wand.”

Hermione's wand launches itself off the cabinet and she snaps forward to catch it before it floats over to the Pureblood.

“This is  _ mine _ ,” she snorts. “And it's clearly the only wand in the room. Go take your hunt somewhere else.”

Nott looks properly abashed and scowls as he backs away from her bed, heading to his corner of the room, defeated. 

Hermione returns to her book and continues trying to decipher the Latin terminology. Lupin had told her that it was thorough on dark artifacts but she has yet to find anything about Horcruxes or anything similar. Shoot. She flips a few more pages and frowns. If only she could gather more information. She looks up at Nott and squints at him. She wonders whether Malfoy is really pissed. Is he mad with her? Or is he impressed?

She kinda really wants to see his face.

Thankfully Nott notices her and looks up.

“What, Granger?” he snaps.

“Already finished your search?” she mocks. 

He rolls his eyes and flops back in bed. “Malfoy doesn't think it's funny, you know.”

“You know what? Tell Malfoy that if he has a problem that he should take it up with me himself,” she snorts casually, heart trilling when she hears Nott’s noncommittal reply. 

 

* * *

 

She doesn't like lurking, but Nott hadn't cornered her with another portkey for the past few days and she was sort of hoping she'd see Malfoy before the week was up.

So here she is, carefully treading through a destroyed Flourish and Blott’s in hopes of killing two birds with one stone. She's in need of better reading material if she ever hopes to keep up with Malfoy’s plans, and she needs a way to get his attention. Now she's found herself some books  _ and  _ this area is known to be crawling with Snatchers. If Malfoy doesn't get pissed and come after her like some angry, self-appointed guardian wizard she'll set this place on fire.

She spends a few minutes browsing the remaining books with care, hoping to take them back in one piece. There are many dark books that reek of strange magic that's thankfully still trapped behind safety wards. She pockets a few and slips the larger ones into her bottomless bag.

She feels rather than sees when he enters. He's still eerily quiet, but there's this alluring aura that follows him- a magnetic presence of sorts that she feels attuned to. Also, he smells really earthy; like wood and fire and forest-y manliness. 

She presses her eyes shut and tries not to think about Malfoy and forests. Or Malfoy  _ in _ a forest…  _ kissing her. _

She really needs to stop.

“That was cunning, Granger,” he says with quiet displeasure when he finds her in between two stacks of toppled books. 

She turns to find him staring down at where she's crouching, looking rather annoyed. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are stormy. A few fresh wounds on his forearm drag her attention away from his face and she focuses on that.

“You get mauled by a cat while stalking me?” she asks drily, raising a brow. 

Malfoy scoffs. “A cat is the least of your worries down this street.”

“Aw,” she coos with the voice she reserves for baby James. “Did wickle Malfoy have to fight a bad man?”

The blond tightens his jaw in a way that immediately makes her wish she hadn't made him do that, but also that she could perhaps make him do it again. 

It's kinda hot.

“Stop whatever this is,” he demands, seemingly ignorant as to why she's squinting at him weirdly. “I know what you're trying to do, and frankly I don't know why I thought this  _ wouldn't _ happen.”

She shakes her head, bemused. 

“Did you expect your kiss to render me inept at basic thought processes?” she asks, hiding a smirk when he scrunches his nose a bit as he struggles to prevent a blush. 

“I thought it would make you think about something else at the  _ very least, _ but clearly nothing I think about you is remotely correct.”

“Interesting. Thinking about me on the daily, are we Malfoy?” she hedges, allowing the smirk to take over her face.

He rolls his eyes snobbishly, looking much like the old Malfoy from school for a split second. “All the time, yeah. I think  _ what would Granger do _ whenever I'm in a bit of a bind. It's kind of a mantra now.”

She tries very hard not to snort. “And?”

“And I remember that there's no way I could put myself into your boring, goody-two-shoes so I say  _ sod it _ and kill the bastard.”

“Hey!” she protests, laughing. “Let me remind you that this boring, goody-two-shoes just stole from you.”

Malfoy returns to his unimpressed state. “I haven't forgotten.”

“Oh, lighten up,” she huffs. “I won that fair and square  _ and _ I didn't even read your mind. How many points is that?”

“No points Granger,” he mutters. “This is much more serious now. Everything hinges on my plans going smoothly and I'd be loathe to kick you out of them.”

Hermione narrows her eyes. “I don't need your plans and I don't need your permission to do anything.”

Malfoy relents then, sighing heavily and resting his head back against the part of a shelf that still remains standing. 

“You're making this very difficult,” he says quietly, not looking at her.

“Why can't you just tell me?” 

“Because you're on the wrong  _ side _ , Hermione,” he exhales sharply, shooting her a  _ look _ .

She promptly ignores his glare and fires back. “You can't just expect me to leave the Order!”

“I don't expect that at all,” he snaps back. “Which is why I can't tell you anything.”

“This is so… so cyclical,” she fumes, leaving the books on the floor to rise to her feet.

Her head only meets the same height as his shoulders, even when she's standing tall, but she refuses to cower or back down. 

“I know,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair aggressively. “And there's a lot that I would love to tell you and ask you, trust me. But I can't.”

She swallows tightly and avoids his heavy gaze. “So maybe… maybe you can give me a hint, and I can give you hints and we can work together-,”

“I can't, Hermione. This is bigger than me. This plan- it could very well end the war. And we will need you. Just not right now.”

“I want to help,” she hisses, glaring up at him. “I want to be of use somehow. I hate being in the sidelines and I hate being overlooked. I hate being treated like a little girl who needs to stay alive to populate the Wizarding world after the adults win the war. I want to fight and I want to  _ help _ .”

Malfoy growls back in kind. “That's not up to me, that's up to you. When you realize how stupid your precious Order is, then you can start doing something about it yourself.”

“You won't understand-,”

“Try me,” he seethes. “Or did you forget I  _ left _ Voldemort knowing he'd kill me on sight if he ever found me. You have the privilege of not having to worry about your friends being tortured as a result of your actions. I realized that my side was not working towards an end goal that was favorable to me and I left. Stop being puppeteered by the Order. And don't complain to me.”

“Sorry for thinking that maybe you could help me,” she spits bitterly. 

“You don't need my help,” Malfoy snaps. “You're doing fine on your own and you'll do fine when you get your head out of your ass and leave- just stop meddling with my plans for now. I'm not the hero, Granger. You are. So start acting like it.”

“Sometimes you call me Hermione,” she says suddenly and he freezes in place. 

“Isn't it your name?” he asks, slowly noticing how close they stand and how frenzied she looks.

Hermione frowns. “Yes, but we only ever call each other by our last names.”

He smirks wryly. “Your name is a mouthful-,”

“Then, by all means, don't say it-,” 

“- _ But _ I like it.”

She laughs unexpectedly. “That is such a lie, Malfoy.”

“Maybe,” he mutters, eyes catching hers. “Or maybe not.”

“You're ridiculously dramatic,” she says, narrowing her eyes even while her heart thuds against her ribs. “But I suppose that's where Nott gets it from.”

Malfoy crinkles his nose, still holding her gaze intently. “Please do not bring Nott up when I'm trying not to think of kissing you.”

She squeaks quietly and steps back, nearly knocking into the mountain of books behind her. But Malfoy’s arm loops around her waist then and she finds herself back to where she'd been, except her stomach seems to have got lost somewhere in the middle of all that.

“I think I quite like when you're thinking of kissing me,” she ventures carefully, eyeing his heady gaze as it traces her nose, her lips, her collarbone and back to her eyes.

“Ah yes,” he intones, voice sinfully  _ gravelly _ . “I remember how much you liked it that time in the forest-,”

“I was surprised,” she huffs, reaching up between them to smack his chest. “You  _ attacked  _ me-,”

Malfoy catches her hand and moves it to the side, still holding himself inches away from her in a way that's mildly frustrating.

“Still,” he mutters. “It's like you had died.”

Hermione flushes deeply and scowls, insulted. “I'll have you know that I am a decent kisser,” she defends herself hastily.

“I'll have to take Weasley’s word for that,” he muses aloud, a small smirk tipping the corners of his lips upwards.

“Please don't bring up Ron when I'm thinking of doing more than just thinking of kissing you,” she mumbles, too caught up in his eyes to think of anything smarter. 

Malfoy seems entirely pleased with her words, but he doesn't move and this time it's she who lurches forward- crossing the tiny space between them to cautiously press her lips to his. She catches the flecks of startling silver in his irises before her own eyes flutter shut, and she sighs into the kiss when he responds. 

“Hmm,” she hums as he moves his lips against hers; soft and pliant and  _ insistent _ .

“Mmm?” he returns, the sound low in his chest as she raises her hands to run them through his hair, tugging at the strands at the nape of his neck.  

She isn't sure what they're humming about but she is entirely certain that she doesn't want to think about  _ anything _ at the moment, so she lets her hands slide to his chest and feels the muscles there as they jump under her touch.

Malfoy cups the sides of her face and pulls her to him, letting their bodies crash against each other when she stumbles forward. He presses into their kiss and she lets him, opening her mouth dazedly as his scent of pine and ashy wood overtakes her senses…

_ Pine? _

A thought sticks out brightly in her head and a puzzle clicks. Her eyes snap open and she gasps into Malfoy’s mouth as she remembers something strange.

Malfoy smells like pine. And wood fire. As did the fountain in the Love Chamber. The one that kept flowing and flowing and filling the room with that smell…

... the smell no one else noticed…

... except for her...

_ Amortentia,  _ her mind supplies helpfully.

Fuck. 

Fuckity fuck.

She struggles to reasonably support the newfound theory with logic, but Malfoy lets his lips trail past her cheek and down, down past her jaw to nip and lick at her neck and she  _ moans _ .

His hands roam over her shoulders and down to grab at her waist, and she retaliates by knotting her fingers in his hair and tugging lightly. He responds by biting at the skin where her neck meets her shoulder and she yelps into his ear. 

It's a messy battle for dominance from then on, and neither emerge victorious- but Malfoy  _ does _ look a thousand times more disheveled when they're done and they stand back to survey each other. His lips are bruised, his chest heaves as he pants, his eyes are so dilated that they're almost entirely black, and his face is uncharacteristically unfocused that Hermione silently declares herself the winner.

Again. 


	10. All the King's Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {And All the King's Men  
> Tried to put Humpty  
> Together Again}
> 
> sorry for the delay in updates but THANK YOU for your kind comments on the previous chapter.   
> just so we're all clear- Hermione didn't drink any Amortentia... she only smelled it.   
> Enjoy the update lovelies!!

“I could tell everyone, you know,” she says one day, staring at the ceiling over her bed after a particularly bruising training session. 

“To what end?” Nott replies dismissively, not even pretending to be worried. 

“I'm just saying,” she continues smugly. “Isn't it bad planning on your part? To bring me into this halfway?”

“Are you still upset Malfoy hasn't officially invited you to our club?” he sneers without venom. 

She scoffs back, now used to his snarky retorts. “I'm not mad, but you should be more concerned about it. What if I am angry enough to tell Kingsley everything?”

“Everything? What do you even know? Better yet, what could  _ Kingsley _ do about it? Torture me for details? Whoo, big deal,” Nott yawns.

“Question you politely, you mean,” Hermione scowls.

“I highly doubt,” he laughs.

“He's the one who's pushing for a  _ ‘clean war’ _ ,” she fusses.

“Sure, let's say that's what he does. What does gain? Nothing, because he could never hurt me as much as the Dark Lord has.”

Hermione stays silent.

“And what do you gain, Granger?”

She almost remains silent at that as well before quickly finding her tongue. “Nothing… yeah nothing. But that's not the point- it's the logic behind it. I can be trouble now that I have information on you, and I also have reason to be spiteful. Are you prepared to deal with that? What would you even do?”

“I guess I'll just have to Obliviate you. Before you commit this hypothetical betrayal of sorts.”

Hermione jolts up and narrows her eyes at him. “You would not.”

“Maybe while you sleep tonight?”

“You would  _ not. _ ”

“Want to try me?” he retorts nonchalantly, still not deigning to look her way.

She glowers and decides that no, she does not want to try Theodore Nott on his ability to completely and effectively Obliviate her mind, so she grumbles to herself and gives up the stupid point.

 

* * *

She has no one to talk to and it frustrates her. Everyone is confused about the death of Lord Voldemort and the Order is in disarray trying to deduce what is happening around them- but Hermione is investigating something else. 

Mostly she's focused on trying to follow up on Malfoy’s plans- he knows something they do not, and that terrifies her. But otherwise, she tries to figure out what's going on inside her own stupid  _ heart. _

Why did she smell  _ Draco Malfoy _ in a room full of Amortentia??

This is getting ridiculous. 

Sure he’s funny and dramatic and abysmally good looking for someone on the run- but she can't be  _ that  _ infatuated with him, right? She only  _ just _ got to know he wasn't an evil little arsehole and now she wants to jump him? 

What was this war bringing her to?

She shakes her head and bites her lip as Ginny passes by her room for possibly the  _ third _ time; bouncing James on her hip. As soon as the redhead passes, Hermione sighs heavily. She cannot ever mention this… this…  _ feeling  _ to anyone.

Not a single soul, living or dead.

And  _ especially _ not Ginny.

“Ginny!” she calls, voice shrill.

The redhead pokes her head into the doorway.

“Ooh I was waiting to see if you'd let me in!” she squeals, way too excited for someone who was supposedly just walking her baby.

“I just called you in to see James,” Hermione says defensively, already regretting her decision to include Ginny in her mental struggle.

The redhead snorts violently and takes a seat beside the other witch on one of the beds. 

“I walked past this room  _ four times _ ,” she says conspiratorily. “You were thinking up a mighty storm to not notice me. So tell me. What has got you, Hermione Granger, stumped beyond words?”

“You say that like it's supposed to mean something,” Hermione sighs, brushing stray curls from her face.

“Of course it does! You're a bloody genius, Hermione! Don't listen to Moody. They're old hags who can't get over the fact that they need us. They can't deal with this war- they're too close to the law and to the old ways. The Wizarding world has always been so slow to make any progress on anything- that's why this war is still on-,”

“That can't be it, Gin,” she protests.

“Well, it is,” the other girl shrugs. “They just can’t cope with the situation, like they can't cope with muggle-borns or werewolves or anyone new and different, really. And they can't cope with you being smarter than the lot of them! So tell me what's wrong without being a twit!”

Hermione groans and hangs her head in her hands. 

“I had a strange… revelation of sorts,” she surmises, watching Ginny’s face for a reaction. “Did Harry tell you about the Love Chamber?” 

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Of course he did, he couldn't stop marveling about Malfoy and the whole scenario that entire night.”

“Right,” Hermione allows awkwardly. “Well, I managed to see it myself the day they went to check the residue, and there was this fountain inside that main chamber-,”

“Ah yes,” Ginny interrupts, smirking privately. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she deflects hurriedly. “You were saying?”

“No, Ginevra Weasley you tell me what you were thinking about right now,” Hermione demands, hands planted firmly on her hips.

James gurgles noisily in excitement and Ginny relents. 

“Ugh, so Harry was explaining how he had to use the fountain for cover and- this is going to be awkward, but all he could think of was my hair? My shampoo specifically, but it's still super ridiculous. I don't know how that boy is still alive.”

Hermione stares at the redhead, all hopes of escape now dashed. 

Of course Harry smelled Ginny’s shampoo when he was all up next to the fountain- he loves her! 

“That's exactly what I'm concerned about,” she intones heavily.

“Harry doesn't have a shampoo fetish, he swore to me,” Ginny says seriously.

“No, Gin. I just realized that the fountain was filled with Amortentia. Possibly. Or some strong magic that reflected similar qualities.”

“What?”

“Sigh, Gin. What does Amortentia smell like?” she asks, trying not to look down her nose like Snape would during Potions class. 

“Um… geez, I dunno. Like love?”

“Like the  _ person _ you love.”

“Ohhhhh my goodness that's cute,” Ginny beams. “So why does that have you all hot and bothered- oh Merlin don't tell me.”

Hermione scowls. “I was hoping I wouldn't.”

“You tell me who this man is!”

“You just asked me not to!”

“You know what I mean!”

“I wish I didn't, sigh.”

The redheaded witch bounces in place, further exciting her baby and causing him to shriek in joy at the flurry of movement. Hermione groans and rubs at her temples.

“Are you catching feelings for someone?” Ginny begs to know, nearly displacing her baby from her lap.  “Is it someone I know?” 

“I can't tell you,” Hermione sighs. “It's too awkward. And not very safe.”

But Ginny isn't satisfied and keeps pushing for details, leaving Hermione stuck and defensive for the whole day- sorely regretting her stupidity. 

* * *

 

 

When she hits a break in the mystery around Malfoy’s actions, it comes with a nasty price.

Everything happens ever so suddenly. 

They're out on a simple mission to extract some innocent satyrs that are in need a safehouse to bunker down in when they're blindsided viciously by a group of raging wizards and witches. 

They  _ scream _ for blood as their wands burst to life with bright curses and Hermione has to throw herself at the hard packed ground to escape the massive attack. She sees Sadie hit the ground as well, but the blonde is bleeding heavily and her face is twisted into a grimace of shock and pain and horror. The satyrs flee, one toppling over as a stray curse hits him square in the back. 

Hermione staggers to her feet, casting a Protego as large as she can. But the witches and wizards are already standing among them, curses flowing from their wands almost endlessly.

“You killed him!” they screech. “You destroyed our Master!”

“You will pay for your actions!” another wizard growls in a guttural tone, and Hermione whirls around to Stun him before he can curse her. 

It's madness- absolute madness. 

There's too many of them and too little of her team. Nott is struggling to fend off three wizards at once and Hermione longs to assist him, but Sadie is vulnerable and she can't leave her open to fire.

She hunkers beside the blonde and casts an Expelliarmus with little hope of it working. 

“Sadie,” she pants. “Sadie, please answer.”

She can't look down, not now- not now. 

A wizard aims for Nott from the far side and she strains to cast faster than him. Her breath leaves her lungs in a noisy  _ whoosh _ as she watches her Stun hit hard, taking the enemy down swiftly.

“Hermione,” Sadie coughs, her blood seeping through the sand on the ground. “I can't feel anything…,”

She trails off, hiding her face on the ground in pain, and Hermione grits her teeth.

“Sadie hang on-,”

Nott's scream interrupts her hollow words of reassurance, and she looks up to see him fall; swarmed by their darkly dressed attackers.

She can't think fast enough, can't imagine that she's the last one left standing. She can't let them  _ kill _ him.

She lurches to her feet unsteadily, wand ready as she casts a spell that knocks them off their feet as they crowd around Nott, oblivious to her approach. 

She casts as many Incarcerous charms as she can muster, watching as many miss her opponents. Two drop to the ground, trussed like pigs, while the others retaliate as soon as they are on their feet- blood red curses whistling past her as they rally and regroup.

She has to keep going. Has to survive. 

They scramble back towards Nott, possibly knowing who he is and how close he used to be to the Dark Lord. She scowls and freezes one in place, before casting a _D_ _ iffindo _ at another that causes the victim to duck violently to avoid the hex.

Hermione rushes for Nott and levitates his form towards her; the spell slipping a few times as the remaining wizards cast at her. A Crucio misses her ear and she hears it screech by- the sound startling enough to cause her to drop Nott’s limp form. He's bleeding from his mouth and nose and she hopes it isn't from a bad Cruciatus. 

But his lips are blue, his eyes glassy, and his body convulses intermittently with the residual effects of the curse, and she knows enough about it to conclude that it was a  _ bad _ one. Probably not as bad as Bellatrix could whip out, but pretty damn close. 

It hurts her to see him so broken. She steps over his bruised and bloodied frame with a grimace of determination, to cast a Protego before attacking once more.

“Confringo!” she shouts, not stopping to watch as the charm knocks the enemy wizard back and consumes him in flames. 

The remaining witch shrieks and fires off several Crucios before charging towards Hermione.

“Impedimenta!” Hermione grits out.

The witch topples over and Hermione uses the moment to freeze her; sighing heavily when all is quiet. She casts a stabilizing charm on the Pureblood before quickly muttering  _ Epsikey  _ several times to heal his wounds. She leaves Nott’s side to check on Sadie who lies face first in the dirt. Her left side is damp with blood and she looks dangerously still. Hermione casts as many healing spells as she can, mind running as she realizes she has to both tend to the hurt satyr as well as find the ones who managed to escape. Maybe she can get her team home and then send a rescue party for the satyrs. Or leave them a Patronus to follow back. That was risky. She dismisses the idea swiftly. 

Sadie’s diagnostics show up as a bright blue glow, indicating that she's merely unconscious, and Hermione takes in a deep breath. 

Now to Apparate these two back to base without splinching them all. 

A weak voice muttering incomprehensibly catches her attention.

A Stunned witch seems to be slowly returning to her normal self, mumbling as she does so. Hermione whirls on the fallen enemy, ready to mute her once more when she realizes what the witch is doing. 

The words  _ morsmordre  _ ring a bell in her head just as a Dark Mark glistens in the air above her; sickly and green even in the broad daylight. It shakes her to her core and she looks down at the Death Eater in shock. The witch is suffering, her arm twisted at an awkward angle- but she continues to mutter.

“The Dark One will return,” she mumbles over and over. “He will save us once more.”

Hermione grimaces at the sight of the dying woman and turns to return to her hurting friends.

“Darkness cannot be extinguished,” the witch moans. “He will rise again.”

“He will not,” Hermione snaps suddenly. “Your  _ master _ is dead.” 

The witch coughs up blood, her slack features curving upwards into a sickening grin. 

“He has no soul,” she gurgles. “He cannot die.”

Hermione frowns but her mind calls her to more pressing matters.

She grunts dismissively and is about to return to her friends when the dying witch’s next words send a chill down her spine.

“The vassals will take his place,” her voice intones, garbled by the blood bubbling in her throat. “And the light will once more be vanquished.”

 

* * *

 

Theodore is in bad shape. 

Really bad shape.

So bad that the potions Molly has put into him have rendered his brain absolutely useless.

“I can't believe I was scared of him in school,” Ron says as he watches Nott try to smooch his mother's hand when she adjusts the gauze on his arm. 

Hermione waves his amusement away. “More pressing matters, Ron.”

“Ah yes, your dead friend,” he says, instantly adopting a serious mien. “I can't for the life of me fathom what it means.”

This makes her growl with frustration, but she waits untill Molly leaves to voice her concerns.

“We have to figure it out! Malfoy  _ obviously  _ knows what's going on and we have to catch up,” she says heatedly.

“Yes but he has a much better source than we do, clearly,” the redhead mutters. “I mean… your source is  _ dead _ .”

Theodore interrupts them then, talking loudly in their direction.

“Right ho, lads,” he calls out vaguely, voice meandering and confused. “Attending my funeral are we? Dressed to the sevenths and eighths and all that?”

“The nines,” Hermione snaps distractedly. “Dressed to the nines.”

Nott doesn't register her correction and just continues with his nonsense. 

“I say, did anyone remember the peacock?” he remembers to ask suddenly.

Ron bursts into laughter. “I wish Dad’s muggle camcorder worked.”

Hermione scowls at both of them, refusing to be swayed by Nott’s accidental hilarity as he attempts to search for his missing bird.

“Does no one care that Malfoy is miles ahead of us?” she says, barely refraining from stomping her foot. “We're never going to win this war at this point. Do you want to let the Americans win this for us?”

Ron shakes his head. “I don't, I don't. But nothing that woman said was anything new, ‘Mione. ‘The Dark One will return’? We kinda knew he was coming back. Maybe it's more horcruxes. Maybe he has an entire stash of them hidden away. Makes sense to not stop at seven like we thought.”

“That would explain how he died so strangely. He… he  _ disintegrated _ ,” Hermione muses. “But she mentioned vassals. Don't you think that's strange at all?”

“Vassals!” Nott pounces in on their conversation. “I know vassals. I know lots of vassals.”

Hermione scowls at him. “Not now, Nott.”

“I can help,” he protests with a whiny lilt to his drugged voice.

This time Ron steps in. “Maybe we should take this conversation elsewhere.”

“I don't want to leave him alone,” Hermione hesitates. “I owe him this much.”

“You're just getting more annoyed,” Ron points out rightly.

“And you underestimate me,” Nott huffs, his face the picture of a snobbish, elitist  _ art collector  _ of some sort. “I know all about the vassals. There are nine.”

Hermione jerks to a halt, hair flying as she peers at the Pureblood. 

“What?” she manages to say. 

Nott just continues to preen proudly, oblivious to the way they gawk at him.

“Oh, he  _ knows _ ,” Ron raises his brows. “And… he's conked out of his mind.”

“This is the best chance we have at getting some information,” Hermione whispers back. “He's a locked vault usually. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Veritaserum?” Ron provides excitedly.

“No way! Ron. Kingsley will murder us.  _ Nott  _ will murder us.”

“He won't find out,” the redhead protests. “Neithef will find out. Especially Nott.”

“Oh he will. And he  _ will _ kill us. No, we'll just have to be smart about it and ask him.”

Ron snorts while she steps closer to the sick bed, bending to meet the Pureblood’s eye.

“Wow Nott, that's quite impressive. I didn't know that,” she begins carefully, eyeing the doorway for Molly’s reappearance.

“Of course you didn't. Even I didn't know it until Malfoy told me. The nine vassals. Catchy, eh?”

“There's nine? Why nine? That's so random,” Ron complains.

“What are the vassals?” Hermione asks over her friend, hurrying to crouch by the sick bed. 

“The lucky ones,” Nott sighs. “Or the chosen few. The Chosen Few. It should be capitalised.”

“What is he  _ on?” _ Ron mutters behind them. “And where can I get some?” 

“Not now, Ronald,” Hermione hisses. “Nott, do you remember what they do? These… um, the  _ Chosen Few _ ?” 

“Obviously, what they're chosen for,” he replies, eyes staring blankly at a point past Hermione’s face.

She huffs in frustration before hiding it with a bright smile. 

“Funny,” she bites out. “But what do they really do? Help a girl out will you, Nott?”

The Pureblood relents with a put upon sigh, rolling his eyes and turning to look over her head and directly at Ron’s chest where the letter R is sewn into his sweater. 

“Fine, Granger. But only because Malfoy becomes a right arse when you're sad. Or mad. It's really disappointing to say the least.”

Hermione colours brightly and shoots upward to stand straight, sensing Ron’s growing confusion at the words. 

“Wait-  _ what?” _ the redhead begins, but Nott blessedly continues without the need for a dramatic pause. 

“The vassals were chosen to host the Dark Lord’s magic. I think. He has no soul left to split up. So he just kind of… stores away nuts for winter.”

“He what?” Ron asks, voice laced with absolute confusion. 

“Ron, honestly! Let him talk. We have to get what we can out of him before Molly comes back,” Hermione stresses, still shakily concerned about the unnecessary details Nott could reveal.

“Nuts for winter. Cake for later. You know?” he mumbles, partly to himself. “You following, Granger?”

“Not really, I've never heard the phrase before,” Hermione tries not to snap. “Can't you be more clearer?”

“Can I? I'm seeing Grindylows and I feel like I'm dying. And you're dressed for my funeral, old pal. It's rather strange.”

“We're not your pals,” she sighs back, resisting the urge to slap her forehead with both palms. 

Nott huffs at the letter on Ron’s sweater and shrugs. “She keeps saying that and I'm not sure why.”

Ron shrugs back, mildly amused.

“What were the vassals for, Nott?” Hermione presses.

“A backup reserve, Granger. Merlin’s balls you're slow.”

“So they're supposed to… what? Hang around till Voldy needs to replenish his supply of power?”

“Or till he loses his physical form and needs to be resurrected?” Hermione suggests quietly.

Ron raises his brows and grimaces. “That's  _ bloody _ macabre. But entirely in character for him.”

“So they're contingency plans. He's far too prepared for defeat this time. It makes sense he doubled on protection after we hunted his horcruxes. This is going to be tougher than I thought,” she sighs heavily, rubbing at her eyes. “And far more complicated. How did Malfoy even come by this knowledge?”

“He did work for Voldemort,” Ron reminds her with some stiffness.

“Yes, but he wasn't as close as Snape. Or even Nott. He defected much earlier to have known that much.”

“You think Malfoy mined this gem?” Nott guffaws out of nowhere, laughing sharply. “Draco can't find his arse with a mirror when he's in a right mood. No, he's smart. Draco's a smart chocolate frog. But he's not  _ McGonagall  _ smart, you know?”

“Why does he speak so weirdly?” Ron bemoans. “I don't want to think about Malfoy as a chocolate frog.”

“Did the Americans help him?” Hermione asks, eyes narrowing. “Are they trying to intervene for their Ministry?”

Nott chuckles again. “The Americans only want the Malfoy money. This show is far too complicated to be run by Draco  _ or _ those daft Americans with their strange accent and their  _ howdy y’all ahm an ahmerican cowboyee- _ ,”

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaims. “Can you stop being a raging idiot for one second? We're trying to figure something out-,”

But he's interrupted by Molly and Madam Pomfrey, who appear in the doorway with their arms crossed and faces red with disappointment. Molly moves to sharply drag Ron out by the ear and reprimand him about proper bedside manner and harassment of his fellow soldiers, while Madam Pomfrey just stands there with a distraught look on her face. Hermione attempts to slip away unnoticed but the Weasley matriarch catches her with a glare and so she stays to listen to the lecture- and by the time Molly runs out of steam, Nott is fast asleep and probably well on his way to being lucid again.

 

* * *

 


	11. Deep, Deep Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baack  
> Missed you guys sorely..  
> Hopefully we'll get to some Draco/Hermione action soon, I'm bored of everyone else

 

“He has people as batteries?” Harry exclaims, hair sticking up wildly around his tired face.

They sigh collectively as they sit around the table in the kitchen, huddling over their morning tea and coffee far before the sun has even risen. Harry is clad in blue pajamas that are baggy on his scrawny form and seem to have weathered a hundred storms. Ron has no shirt on as he claims that spring is nigh upon them despite the obvious chill outside, and Hermione is cloaked by the duvet from her room. They share glances of frustration, and the bubble of magic around them keeps their voices out of earshot to any other early risers.

“And you say Nott was high off his rocker?”

“Ron said that,” Hermione tells Harry. “Molly’s pain killer was too harsh. But essentially yes. We managed to get all this from him pretty easily.”

“Can we rely on it?” the wizard asks, scratching the area on his nose that his glasses rest on. “If he was delirious then his information could be of no use.”

“It's not like he gave us exact coordinates and battle plans,” Ron shrugs. “It's just a vague starting point. I say we go with it and look into these _vassals_. The sooner we catch up to Malfoy, the sooner we can end this with him.”

They fall silent at his words.

“Strange, isn't it?” Harry says, his hair still ridiculously defying gravity. “That we're trying to beat Malfoy at saving the world.”

“The Wizarding world,” Hermione snorts. “Don't get too cocky, Scarhead.”

He laughs at her use of Malfoy’s favourite nickname for him and fires back one of his own.

“You can't stop me and the Weasel King,” he raises his brows, watching as Ron flushes primly.

“It's funnier that he spent the time to write a whole  _ song _ about me,” he grouses, ignoring Harry’s explosion of laughter.

“He was rather obsessed with us, wasn't he, Potty?” Hermione snickers.

Ron narrows his eyes at her. “Do one for Hermione, she's having far too much fun at our expense.”

Harry chuckles and turns to face her, mouth opening with a witty retort no doubt. Hermione laughs and squares her shoulders in a show of bravery, face pinched with the effort. He makes a sound but then pauses, closes his mouth and then opens it again before grimacing. 

“He didn't say anything funny about you,” Harry says awkwardly.

“Yes he did,” Hermione frowns. “He called us all names.”

Ron seems to cotton on to Harry’s concerns. “Yeah but they were lame. You know what, let's talk about Nott’s loony side, now that's _ something _ -,”

“Ronald! Why are you deflecting?” she interrupts swiftly. “I'm not going to get  _ hurt _ !”

“Yes well, I won't repeat what he called you,” Ron snaps back. “Don't Ronald me. I'm a respectable wizard and I know I can be beastly and messy at times but I'd never be caught dead calling anyone what he called you.”

_ Mudblood _ is what he doesn't say.

Hermione’s breath catches in her throat and she awkwardly meets Harry’s concerned gaze.

“Yes, well.... good thing that's all in the past, eh?” she says timidly.

Rom huffs and looks away while Harry picks up the conversation in a desperate attempt to rekindle the lightness they'd stumbled upon earlier. 

* * *

 

She's halfway to her point when she notices someone tailing her at a distance, quietly flitting through the cover of trees that hide them from view of the manor ahead. Her heart thuds with bottled annoyance from her internal thoughts.

She can't believe she's forgotten how much of an arse Malfoy had been in Hogwarts. 

And she’d kissed that mouth! Ugh. 

She waits a beat before whirling around with her wand drawn, ready to hex Malfoy into oblivion, when she notices a streak of red at the last second and aims her wand at the bark of a tree. It splinters under the hex and she ducks to avoid the fallout. 

“Ginny?!” she exclaims incredulously.

The redhead groans from where she'd thrown herself into the brush. 

“I can't believe you tried to kill me,” she mumbles. “Although I should have been sneakier.”

“Or you should have told me you were coming along,” Hermione snaps. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm fighting with you!” the younger witch says as she snaps to attention. 

“No you're not. Does anyone know you're here?”

“Does it matter? I want to help-,”

“Oh lord. Kingsley will have kittens!”

“Forget that old loon. He's barely keeping it together. Let me flank you, Hermione,” Ginny pleads. “I've been training with Nott! I promise I won't let you down.”

Hermione grimaces and lowers her wand. “You don't even know the plan or the layout of the mission.”

“Yes I do,” Ginny nods feverishly. “I overhead Ron discussing your meeting- he said you found a potential hideout closer to their base where we can stake them out.”

Hermione clears her throat awkwardly. “Um… yeah. Exactly. So it's not an exciting plan, Gin. I don't need a cover-,”

“Oh bollocks. I talk to Luna and Neville okay. We know that you three are up to something and that you're not telling Kingsley or Moody. Just like the old times. But you gotta let me help you. I know Harry and Ron lied about what this mission is about.”

The other witch winces. “No they didn’t.”

“ _ Hermione _ . My husband is the worst liar to ever exist and I know my brother well enough to spot his tells. They lied their arses off to Mom and Kingsley.”

Hermione exhales heavily and Ginny takes this as a sign of victory on her part and continues.

“I'll cover you. I'm fast and I'm sneaky. I tailed you lot all the way here, didn't I?”

Hermione has to give her that. She knows the other witch had been training to be a Seeker, but she hadn't realised that the redhead was capable of moving this quietly.

“I also have a baby in case you forgot,” Ginny shrugs. “I know how to walk around like a ghost when I need him to stay asleep.”

“I haven't forgotten. What about James?” Hermione asks as a last ditch effort.

“He's with Mom,” Ginny replies shortly, adjusting her grip on her wand readily.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” 

“Are you trying to tell me how to parent my child?”

Hermione notes that point with a terse nod and turns back to face the target location.

“Alright then, Ginevra Weasley. Cover my back and give me room to take point. Don't engage with anything or anyone on your own, and always use Protego charms. If you fall behind use a Patronus and if you have to use an Unforgivable then make it count,” she directs as she starts to head back in her original direction, wand ready at her hip.

Ginny bounds behind her, grin bright and eyes sharp and focused. “Yessir!”

Hermione feels the thrill of the hunt flow through her and she turns to flash Ginny a smile.

“We're looking for Nott Senior,” she adds. 

“Nott? As in Theodore Nott?” Ginny gasps.

“The one and the same. Except the older one, of course. He's privy to some particular information about Voldemort’s return,” Hermione eyes her friend’s slack-jawed stare. “Now close your mouth and stay down till I say so.”

Ginny stops gaping and shakes her head as she follows.

“Voldemort’s returning?” she breathes to herself. “You lot  _ have _ to stop leaving me out of everything.”

 

* * *

 

She and Ginny enter the chilly manor through the kitchens, ducking past the anxious House Elves that let them in. The shorter one squeaks nervously as they thank him and shakes his head in a panic when they cross the large room and enter the main household. Hermione wants to thank them for essentially betraying their master but she knows they won't like the reminder and House Elves are generally loud in their self reprimanding. So instead she forges on, Ginny tailing right behind her.

The manor is not as lavish as the Malfoy establishment; yet it's arching ceilings and quiet, endless hallways send shivers down Hermione’s back. The marble floor is dusty and scorched in areas and the entire building reeks of a strange musk. She keeps her wand ready as she moves to the giant stairway and nods at Ginny.

The redhead joins her silently, turning to cover them from behind as they head up the stairs to the first landing. No one inside the manor has been alerted of their presence yet, which means Harry has done a good job of dismantling the wards. 

Hermione had initially wanted to handle the outside wards herself, but Ron had insisted that she be the first one in. He'd attempted to break in here once before and been held up viciously at the main entrance by an unwelcoming welcome party. 

Minutes later she hears the quiet sounds of a struggle from outside the building and knows that Harry and Ron have allowed themselves to be spotted. Two loud footsteps thud their way, and Hermione casts a quick Disillusionment charm over herself and Ginny just as the Death Eaters charge past them.  The two men head towards the sounds of the fight; their wands drawn and masks in place.

“Homenum Revelio,” she mutters when they leave. 

Her spell casts a soft orange light across the hallway before her and recedes into nothingness. No glowing comes from the adjoining rooms and stairwells. 

No one is on this floor.

They continue up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Nott Senior is surrounded by four Death Eaters when they find him in the upper Atrium, the glass windows and ceiling filtering in the wan spring sunlight. The indoor garden is wilting under the effects of the presence of Dark Magic that is heavy in the room, and Ginny frowns at a sad fern as she moves to enter.

Hermione snatches her arm, causing the other witch to pause.

“What?” Ginny asks quietly. 

Hermione points at the glass surrounding the room before them. “Foe glass.”

“What do we do?” Ginny questions, slightly panicked.

“We're outside its perimeter for now, it's ok. But once we're in we'll have to move fast.”

“Want me to distract?”

“Got any ideas?”

“I might.”

* * *

 

Ginny charms the plants to grow, causing the floor to tremble and they unfurl and rise upwards- enlarging in both girth and height. The Death Eaters startle and immediately cover Nott Senior, forming a barricade around him, albeit in confusion as their enemy appears to be a wall of quickly growing  _ green _ . The plants smash through the glass of the ceiling, shards raining down to a sharp tune even as the wizards try to slice away the plants with hexes. Ginny sidesteps fluidly into the room, setting off the remaining foe glasses and causing the klaxons of the charm to sound loudly in the already panicked space. The plants keep growing and she manages to Stun two wizards, using the mass of giant ferns as cover despite still being disillusioned. 

The other two wizards start firing curses at random, still unable to identify the cause of the destruction and Hermione notices Nott Senior attempting to disApparate.

He swirls out of existence for a split second before returning solidly and she sends a quick prayer to the gods above for Harry’s warding ability. 

Their Anti-Apparition ward on the building holds strong, but Nott Senior starts to realise he's trapped and begins hurling potent curses around the room. The foe glass is either destroyed or hidden by the growing plants, leaving him unable to spot his enemies in the surface of the glass. Hermione allows Ginny to tackle one more wizard successfully before diving into the fray, disarming the remaining Death Eater and freezing him in place. She ducks Nott Senior’s Avadas and fires a binding charm back at him.

He looks deranged- his features dramatically enraged and maniacal. His hair is shaggy and peppered with streaks of grey that no self-respecting Pureblood would ever allow to exist upon themselves. His form is hunched slightly and his gait is weaker than when she'd seen him in battle last. She watches as he conjures a shield to deflect her spell and then casts something that she can't quite catch. 

It’s a counter-spell to their Disillusionment charm, and Ginny immediately materialises into visibility right near him. The Nott patriarch attacks her with a violent curse and Hermione bites back a scream as she watches the redhead topple over at the impact. She steps forward angrily and her wand arm snaps up to decimate the frail wizard where he stands but she knows they need him. She knows she can't kill him. 

In her hesitation Nott Senior turns, startling when he sees her there. 

“You,” he mutters, recognition dawning on his harsh features. “You're with the Potter boy.”

He squints at her. “Is he here to kill me then?”

She casts the fastest Expelliarmus she's ever attempted and catches the expensive wand as it flips over across the room to her. 

“No. He wants you alive. You have something we need,” she says darkly, her own wand still pointed at his chest, her arm shaking from the effort of holding back. “So I suggest you don't do anything to make me end your life unnecessarily.”

Nott Senior smiles chillingly. “You expect me to adhere to your wishes? I'd rather die than allow myself to be caught, although I'm sure you know.”

Hermione seethes at the way he stands casually, hands held out as if in surrender. “I know. Which is why we're doing this the hard way.”

And she hits him with the strongest Cruciatus she can conjure, channeling all her anger and hate through her magic and out her wand into the curse that is most probably breaking at least a  _ few  _ bones in his body.

“Think his brain is fried?” Ginny asks as she staggers to her feet, bits of fern and other leaves clinging to her hair and clothes. She looks like a comic book villain that’s especially excited over her enemy being harmed.

Hermione shakes her head. 

At their feet lies Nott Senior, a once powerful Dark wizard, capable of immense destruction and endless torment. But he, like Lucius Malfoy, no longer looks regal in his old age. He is frail and hollow- his eyes staring blankly at the broken glass ceiling above. Sunlight filters in through the leafy canopy over their heads and speckles Nott Senior’s frame with spots of warm gold. His mouth trickles blood and Hermione hates his face. He looks nothing like the Theodore that she shares a room with. 

Ugh.

She hesitates before her next move. She’s never tried this on an entirely unwilling subject before and she doesn’t want to botch this whole excursion because she flopped a simple interrogation. Ignoring her internal doubts, she crouches beside him and thinks  _ Legilimens. _

It's a struggle to enter his mind even with him nearly unconscious with pain. She is a rookie at mental magics and Occlumency is far easier than Legilimency she knows. The senior Nott’s mind is a fortress and she has to focus her entire effort just to enter. His thoughts float avidly, but Snape has taught her to look past what the mind offers and to search for what it tries to hide. 

But that's easier said than done. Nothing works in the mind like it does in words. There are no locked boxes and shelves to rifle through. There are no walls and doors and rooms with memories and information in it. She just feels forces acting against her and she has to drag herself through resistance after resistance like a fly in honey, except it's just darkness all around her and she has no idea where or what she is. 

The word  _ vassal  _ hits her radar after a while and she hones in on that thought. 

* * *

Voldemort is standing in a darkened room, surrounded by seven shrouded figures. She struggles to move through this vision or memory, peering through the fog at the faces of the men. The Dark Lord’s eerie face is the same as she used to know- red, beady eyes set in a pale canvas with no features. Sans eyebrows, sans hair… sans nose.

He's talking. It's garbled- as if she's listening through a watery ear. His snake hisses at his feet. If Nagini is still by his side, then this must be from before the fated Battle of Hogwarts. The creature slithers quietly, it's noises amplified by the strange acoustics in Nott’s mindspace. 

Voldemort has his wand pointed at one of the supplicants who begin to kneel on the floor at his feet.

It's then that she realises the floor is slick with shiny blood and that the hems of their cloaks are drenched and stained. She gags. The snake shifts restlessly as if sensing her presence.

The scene continues to unfold as the hooded figure lying prostrate on the ground lifts his cowl off to reveal a shiny head of white blonde hair. 

_ Lucius Malfoy. _

Hermione grits her teeth. Of course, that bastard.

Voldemort cuts the air with his wand-  _ the elder wand- _ and darkness pours into the room. Lucius Malfoy opens his mouth with an ugly scream that sounds haunting through the watery filter, and Hermione wills herself to  _ jump _ through the memory.

Faster.  _ Faster _ . 

Nagini hisses angrily as blood and darkness swirls around Lucius Malfoy before the thought escapes her control and jumps rapidly through time.

Faces flit by as each supplicant takes their turn. 

Nott Senior. Someone unfamiliar. Another unfamiliar. 

Nagini hisses agitatedly as if upset at her intrusion. 

Faster the memory goes. Fenrir Greyback takes a knee. Followed by an unfamiliar. The other is masked.

...

That's seven. 

Only seven? 

There's supposed to be nine, she remembers.

But then the wretched snake hisses sharply- the sound clear and not warbled by the barrier- and turns to stare directly at her. And Nott Senior effectively throws her out of his head.

* * *

 

When she recedes from his mind, she is exhausted and her eyes sting like as if she’s been looking into the sun. 

And her  _ head _ . God. That’s another story of pain entirely.

“Ginny,” she moans, trying not to empty her stomach all over Nott Senior’s face.

But the redhead doesn’t seem to be paying attention. “Uh, Hermione? Why is Harry’s patronus floating up here?”

Hermione tries to blink her surroundings back into focus, groaning when she sees the ethereal stag trotting up to them through the air.

_ We’ve been compromised _ , Harry’s disembodied voice pants in a panic.  _ The Americans- they got Ron. Hurry up! Don’t come through the foyer- _

The message quits abruptly and the stag holds their attention with a doleful stare for a few long seconds before Ginny starts, rushing to stand with her wand clenched tightly in one palm. 

“What did he say? Are they in trouble?” she asks frantically, green eyes flashing, ready for a fight. “Americans? What Americans? Where?”

Hermione exhales with a grimace on her face, biting her lip as she weighs her options.

A thunderous boom shakes the building so harshly that the shards of glass clatter and rise momentarily. Hermione grits her teeth.

She can't explain this one right now.

“Let’s go,” she says instead.

“What about the old man?” Ginny points out, nudging Nott’s thigh with her foot.

_ “ _ I have what we came for,” Hermione waves her off, already trying to dismantling Harry’s anti-Apparition ward. “Shit. This isn't working.”

“Are you sure he's not necessary?” Ginny looks concerned.

Hermione plays the memory through in her head and pauses at the moment that Nott Senior takes a knee before Voldemort- face upturned and open, as if the darkness is his saving grace. 

Ugh. Creepy. And important. 

“Damn, you're right. We'll have to levitate him with us. Fuck,” Hermione grumbles, running through scenarios in her head. “Ok, we'll take the damn stairs.”

“Or the windows?” Ginny suggests, shrugging as she peers through the shattered glass dome around them. 

Hermione chews the inside of her mouth. It's dangerous. Malfoy would hate it.

“Smart,” she grins. “Cushioning charm set?” 

Ginny smirks. “Ready as it'll ever be. 

“Remember to cast it once you're close enough-,”

“I've got this Hermione,” Ginny reassures her. “Let's go save my husband.”

Hermione allows a chuckle at that and Levitates Nott Senior up so that he floats by her side. 

“And you can rescue Ronald. Isn't that romantic?” Ginny chortles, avoiding the Nott patriarch’s body as she prepares to jump.

The redhead thankfully forgoes the need to answer as she skips eagerly off the edge of the floor they're on and disappears from sight.

Hermione tries not to let Ginny’s  _ suggestion _ get to her as she takes a running leap through the broken space in the window and hurtles down at a frightening speed; her hair whipping away from her face so sharply that it nearly blinds her in one eye. Nott Senior floats steadily behind her and she wishes that he takes a face of dirt when they land. The air whistles past as she focuses her attention off old man Nott and back on the ground that's rising up to meet her, and she closes her eyes and imagines furious,  _ furious  _ grey eyes before throwing out a wandless charm- half prepared to smash into the grass shoulder first.

 

* * *

 


	12. Step Two: Kill Your Darlings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one guys!  
> Also thank you so much for the comments for the last chapter! I'm so flattered you guys are the best<3 hope this lives up to your expectations.
> 
> Also also; how does one throw sexy times into a war fic

When she first sees the Americans, her body doesn't really respond as it does to threats. Of course it doesn't go completely lax like the first time she ran into Malfoy, but she does kinda slow down and take some time to catch her breath; Nott Senior floating beside her like a companion spirit of sorts.

Except alive.

Sort of.

There's three newcomers in the Nott Manor foyer, dressed in unfamiliar clothes and entirely overpowering Harry.

Ginny exhales with her teeth clenched.

“That's the chick Harry was talking about,” the redhead grunts. “The one who was smart talking them at the battle in the Department of Mysteries. No one as  _ prude _ as her has any business bothering my husband! Look at her outfit.”

“I actually like her skirt,” Hermione observes, stealthily following Ginny as they edge around the left wing of the building and towards their targets.

They hear Harry desperately trying to negotiate Ron's release before Ginny responds.

“A skirt? In battle? She's barmy, ‘Mione.”

“Maybe it's magically altered,” she shrugs back. “I think she looks spiffy.”

“Spiffy? She looks like a librarian!”

Hermione scowls. “I like it.”

“Only you would,” Ginny scoffs under her breath. “Look, they've got Ron up in the air.”

Sure enough, her brother is levitating eight feet off the ground, legs dangling as he chokes out incomprehensible pleas. The magic holding him up is crackling with a strange, unfamiliar blue aura, and Hermione knows that this is a spell she has never seen before. 

It sets her on edge and finally,  _ finally  _ her battle reflexes kick in and she's ready to obliterate these smarmy intruders. 

“Flank me,” she instructs the other witch. “I'm going in.”

“At least signal Harry so he can pitch in!” Ginny protests, grabbing her friend’s forearm.

Hermione really wants to just charge in with all the annoyance coursing hotly in her system, but she remembers that these enemies are unknown to her. She can't predict them or their priorities, and she absolutely cannot risk Ron's life or Ginny's.

Harry's fine... he doesn't die easily.

So she summons a tiny pebble off the ground and sends it whizzing towards Ron who's floating above the confrontation at the Manor’s entrance steps. It hits him square on the back of his head and he yelps.

“Bloody hell!” he grunts and its loud enough for Harry to look past the witch he's negotiating with to catch a glimpse of Hermione and Ginny. He makes no move to respond or acknowledge them, and Hermione is glad. 

“Okay,  _ now  _ I'm going in,” she announces.

“What about the old guy?” Ginny stops her.

Hermione groans. There's a reason why she never really  _ leads _ many attacks. She's a splendid soldier and a ridiculously amazing strategist; but somehow when she's on the battlefield, all she ever thinks about is  _ going in headfirst, screaming bloody murder. _

She takes a deep breath, for Ginny's sake, and exhales calmly. 

_ Calmly _ .

Then she lets Nott Senior drop to the ground and casts a Glamour charm over him that makes his body look like a mound of grass.

“Alright?” she huffs.

Ginny doesn't look convinced. “How will we find him again? And what if he wakes up and runs off?" 

“Gin!” Hermione snaps. “Look, I'll Stun him again and then we'll use a Revelio later to spot the geezer- now can we get a move on,  _ please?  _ Your brother is eight feet in the air right now!”

“You just want to get to the fighting part,” the redhead smirks, unfazed.

Hermione turns away to mock her friend under her breath. 

“Ok. Let's do this. You try cancelling the spell on Ron. Be creative because that's not a spell we know, and be fast because if the fight gets too drawn out they might off him,” she tells Ginny before casting a disIllusionment charm on herself and stalking towards the group.

She makes it four feet away from the Americans before one of the men snaps their head around sharply to stare at where she stands, awkwardly frozen midstep. 

“Maggie,” he growls, voice low and heavily accented, and the witch talking to Harry looks back.

“What?” she snaps. 

“There's someone else here, I can smell it.”

“Deal with it, Jesse,” she says tersely. “Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

Hermione jumps out of her skin as the wizard charges directly for her and she barely manages to avoid his first spell.

Her charm drops and she blinks into visibility, narrowly avoiding a Stun to the chest. She retaliates with an Incendio that destroys the patch of grass between them and the second wizard decides to join the fray.

“Is this another of your friends, Potter?” Maggie asks tiredly, still observing the fight. 

“Call your men off,” Harry hedges. “Leave her alone!”

“I’d rather not. You're all far too nosy for your own good, I say.”

“Listen, we're on the  _ same  _ side,” Harry switches tactics and begs, edging around the intimidating witch as he does so. “And I don't want to waste time fighting. Just let my friends go and we'll talk about everything-,”

“Harry, just knock her out, honestly!” Hermione snaps, ducking away from the two wizards and casting a hex around her in a wide arc. 

Frost crackles across the grass and solidifies around Jesse’s feet, causing him to lose his balance and tumble over in a weird slump. She Stuns him immediately. 

His partner grunts and sidesteps the body, firing and Incendio across to Hermione that melts away her icy charm. 

She growls back and lets a blasting charm miss him purposefully, obliterating a part of the steps and effectively blocking his left side. The wizard tries to cast another Incendio, but she aims three quick Stuns at his head, causing him to duck to his only available exit; the right.

Ginny materialises right before him and smacks him out of the air with a powerful Expelliarmus that sends his wand flying across the grounds and his body rolling over to where Maggie stands. 

She eyes his unconscious body with distaste.

“More friends?” the witch grumbles drily, glaring at the redhead.

“Not really,” Ginny smiles saccharinely. “I'm just the wife.”

And in true Weasley matriarch fashion, she proceeds to kick ass.

She takes them by surprise by pushing the attack first; blasting the stairs with successive Reductos. Harry shouts as he tries to escape, and Maggie finally shows a sign of unease.

“You Brits are honestly such pains in the ass,” she snaps, but her spell on Ron still holds strong.

Ginny doesn't stagger and keeps casting explosive hexes; chunks of marble streaking past her as she aggressively stalks forward. Harry is screaming for her to go easy and behind them all, Jesse struggles to his feet. Hermione decides to let Ginny handle the witch and she detaches from the group to Stun the recovering wizard. He ducks at the last moment and conjures a shield that deflects her next two attacks.

“Give up,” he mutters, voice hoarse.  

“Not until you let my friend go,” she counters, hammering his shield with a barrage of hexes. “He did  _ nothing _ to you!”

“He was in the way!”

“He is fighting for what you are fighting for, can't you see that?” she presses, summoning a shield when Jesse fires a sudden blast of fire her way. “Stop this  _ right now.” _

Jesse obviously ignores her and she sets her sights on destroying him for that decision- but there's a sudden blast of energy from the Manor’s entrance that throws them all off their feet as it rockets away from the source on the stairs. Ron falls from the air and thumps gently onto a cushioning charm someone's conjured, and Hermione hears the world ring in her ears as she struggles to sit up.

Maggie stands at the entrance, hair slightly out of place, stance wide and aggressive. She lowers her wand arm and straightens her coat haughtily.

“There,” she scoffs. “Now stay  _ down _ and stay  _ out _ of my work. You're all meddlesome and tiring- but I guess now it makes sense how you lost this war so badly.”

Her words float through Hermione's abused ears and she makes a sad attempt at a rebuttal.

“You take that back-,”

Maggie just rolls her eyes and turns to head into the manor. “Jesse, hurry up. The target would have no doubt left the building after this whole mess- if he has any sense that is.”

Jesse’s boots crunch against the grass as he moves past Hermione. “I don’t think he left- I can smell him here. And all over these people. They have him.”

“Well… we can’t be too sure,” Maggie shrugs. “You get him from them, then. I’ll double check the building for any traces. And leave Wendell behind,  _ honestly.  _ If he's stupid enough to get himself knocked out by a  _ disarming charm  _ of all things-,”

_ Crucio,  _ Hermione thinks as clearly as she can, hand raised even as she struggles to crawl to her knees.

She hears Jesse shout in warning distantly, but the red curse is already sailing through the air. It hits Maggie just as she turns back around; her eyes widening comically before she drops to the ground in a convulsive heap.

Hermione raises herself onto one knee and casts a Reducto at Jesse’s feet that misses him widely instead of knocking him back onto the grass. 

She tries to stand but her knees give way and she hears Harry call out for her.

“Hermione, watch out!”

His frame crosses her vision suddenly, landing beside her with an  _ oomph  _ as the shield he’s cast upon them buckles under a hex.

Jesse stands ahead of them with his wand drawn. “Hermione...  _ Granger _ ?” 

His face is a mask of confusion and something else, but just then Ginny slowly rises to her feet and begins to pitch in. She catches him off guard with a sharp Stinging Hex and he yelps, all six towering feet of his frame jolting into the air in shock.

“We can’t let Maggie get away,” Hermione tells Harry, grasping at his arm as Ginny and the American continue to struggle.

“You Crucio’d her!” he gasps, nose bleeding and his eyes furious.

They’re green though- not grey. She’s waiting for angry grey ones, she tells herself.

“I had to,” she says defensively.

“You didn’t,” Harry frowns. “I’m going to check on Ron. You help Ginny.”

She scowls as he leaves, and promptly ignores his orders. She’s bringing that nuisance of a witch with her if she can help it.

Maggie has stopped twitching on the stairs and when Hermione staggers towards her, she makes no indication of being conscious. 

Hermione snatches the witch’s wand from where it lies on the ground and pockets it. It must be a replacement, considering Maggie’s original wand its still sitting safe in Hermione’s dresser drawer under wards upon wards. She smirks as she crouches beside the witch and binds her with a spell before casting a Rennervate.

“You underestimated us,” she tells the American.

“There’s four of you and one of me,” Maggie groans. “And I’m still alive. It’s a wonder your community even exists with such incompetent-,”

“Shut up,” Hermione snaps. “And answer my questions.”

“I don’t give in to petty threats,” the witch smirks, cheek bruising darkly as she speaks.

Hermione curls her lip. “You do respond under an Imperius.”

This causes the other with to flinch minutely, but she rallies quickly and thrusts her chin upwards. “Do your worst.”

“Hermione!” Harry calls out angrily behind them, Ron slumped against his side. “Let’s go!”

Maggie frowns, but remains silent- her face darkening as her bruises begin to show.

“Harry we have to-,” Hermione tries to argue, casting another binding around Maggie as Ginny slowly tries to back away from Jesse so as to join Harry.

“We have what we need!” the black-haired wizard insists, eyes hard and mouth set.

“We could have so much more!” Hermione shouts. “She’s with Malfoy! Imagine how much she knows! Imagine what information we could have. Just give me some time-,”

“You’re  _ that  _ Hermione?” Maggie says suddenly. “Hermione Granger?”

“You shut up.”

“Hermione, let’s go!” Harry urges, voice tense with unexpressed annoyance. “I’m ordering you as your leader-,”

“You are  _ not  _ my leader, and this isn’t a  _ mission _ ,” Hermione seethes. “Let me do this!”

“Then do it alone,” Harry intones, raising his wand.

Hermione feels his wards dissipating and she realises something important a moment too late.

“Harry no! The anti-Apparition wards!” she screams, stepping forward in alarm.

The American wizard leaps forward then, grasping Ginny by the hair and yanking her back into his chest as he casts an Expelliarmus at Harry. It catches him off guard and his wand tears away from his hand. A binding hex winds around his and Ron’s bodies, knotting round them tightly. 

“Give us Mr. Nott,” Jesse says calmly, his wand now pressed into Gin’s neck as he makes eye contact with Harry, his eyes hard and determined.

“We don’t have him, clearly!” Harry cries out, his grasp on Ron slipping slightly.

“I can smell him on this girl,” Jesse explains. “Hand over Mr.Nott and I’ll let her go nice and easy.”

Harry looks murderous, his face reddening as he glares daggers at the American’s indifferent face. “You’re messing with the wrong person.”

“No need for dramatics. Hand over the old man.”

“Harry, don’t!” Hermione intercedes, leaving Maggie’s side momentarily. 

“We have some Unforgivable curses too you know,” Jesse threatens.

“You can’t bully us-,” Ginny spits, wrenching her body forwards.

“The ginger boy goes then,” the wizard shrugs, holding her still as he points his wand outward at Ron, where he stands held upright solely by being bound to Harry. The latter shouts, twisting them around to shield his unconscious friend even as Jesse’s wand flares with a sickening green light.

“No! Stop, no don’t hurt him! He’s by the tree!” Ginny screams, voice shrill as she flinches sharply. “Nott is by the tree over there- please don’t hurt him!”

The American smirks and his spell washes over the two boys, erupting with a shower of harmless sparkles that cling to their skin and hair.

“Thank you dearly, doll.” he nods, letting go of Ginny and disApparating promptly.

The redhead stands there shocked, swaying lightly on her feet.

“Are you serious! Ginny, you  _ idiot!” _ Hermione shouts, running forward when she sees Jesse Apparate near the very tree they’d left Nott Senior by. But something moves in the corner of her vision and she sees Maggie lurch forward. Everything moves quickly after that. 

The witch seems to shrink for a second before morphing entirely into a small bird that flits out of the bindings at lightning speed and transforms back into a human mid air. Her open palm snaps out, fingers curled as she smashes the heel of her hand into Hermione’s face. 

“Shit,” Hermione groans as she keels over.

Maggie lands swiftly and snags her elbow, and Hermione stumbles further as she feels her body being yanked towards the other witch.

Her nose feels warm and her upper lip immediately feels the stream of blood that’s no doubt soon to be rushing down her mouth and chin.

“Jesse, let’s go!” Maggie barks, smiling like a shark as she casts a Stun right to the side of Hermione’s head. “And unbind those two fools else they’ll be stuck there forever. We have what we need.”

* * *

 

When Hermione wakes again she’s hovering in the air over Maggie’s shoulder, following the witch as she stalks an unfamiliar corridor. Her head throbs like a right bitch, and her vision swims nauseatingly. Garbled sounds assault her tender ears and make her head thump louder. Maggie is talking avidly to Jesse, her accent blurring her words as Hermione struggles to escape the tendrils of unconsciousness that drag at her mind. But one thing is abundantly clear.

She’s been captured.

_ Fuck _ .

Jesse responds to something Maggie has said and his low voice startles Hermione. She slowly turns her head to peer at him and nearly jumps when she realises that his face is right beside her. His head reaches her body even though she floats pretty high up over the ground. He’s also got a heap of grass over his shoulder, strangely. 

Something flits by inside her foggy mind and she remembers Theodore Nott Senior. 

He’s here too.

Fuckity  _ fuck _ .

She feels her lungs constrict as she realises that she has no idea what happened to her friends- whether they’ve been spared or if they’ve been hurt or captured as well. And Ron, gods she doesn’t know if Ron is even alive!

She didn't even get to tell them what she saw in Nott Senior’s mind so they can get a head start, and neither do they know that she's met Malfoy before and that she probably isn't in any real danger now.

Her eyes prick with stress and she feels her head tide over in an uncomfortable spin and then the darkness is dragging her back under again.

* * *

The eyes glaring at her are decidedly not grey, she observes dully when she awakens.

Her vision slowly tunnels outward and she sees exactly how angry Theo really is.

Their spy Theo.

The double spy Theo. Or triple spy. She can’t keep track.

He looks agitated and its written all over his face.

“What is wrong with you? Why do you and your  _ stupid _ Gryffindor friends just have to recklessly dig into shit that can most definitely kill you? You took three people to attack my father. Three! You aren't even trained Aurors and they don't even do that. And you got captured! The so-called “saviour of the light” can’t even keep his friends safe! Merlin help us all.”

“Don’t blame Harry,” she tries to say, except it just comes out as a croak.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Nott sneers.

Their Nott.

Malfoy’s friend Nott.

Not the old man she kidnapped and tortured for information.

Heck.

“You went after my father!” Theodore says icily. “Are you stupid? Did you think I would never know?”

Hermione winces at the murderous look in his eyes. He looks like Harry when he’s exceptionally angry. 

“You are an idiot,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “You didn’t even tell anyone! Do you know how evil this man is? Do you even realise how much danger you put yourselves in? Granger, look at me!”

She complies hastily even though she’s confused and her head  _ hurts so much _ .

“You could have died! Or worse! You could have been tortured and hurt and left to die! You’re lucky he was so weak. You’re lucky because  _ we’ve  _ been after him as well and  _ we  _ haven’t been stupid about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you even wonder why that man was chosen to be a vassal if he did such a shit job of protecting himself? He’s been regularly consuming poison, Hermione. Small doses of course, so as not to be fucking obvious about it.”

She stares at him dumbly. “What?”

“We’ve been weakening him for today, and somehow you chose the very same day to attack, thus unravelling all our well-set plans with your crackpot two second strategy.”

“How did you-,”

“Think, Granger.”

“The house elves?” she ventures, body slowly beginning to feel the pain from her previous battle as Theodore’s words set heavily in her mind.

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” he snaps. 

“But how? We got that contact from Dobby.”

“They're  _ my _ house elves, Granger. That was my house.”

She flushes and looks away.

Whoops.

He stops talking to pace around and Hermione slowly notices her surroundings.

She’s bound to a large, cushioned armchair with magical restraints in a room that’s fully furnished with an ornate dresser, a floor length mirror and wallpaper and drapes that match. It’s ridiculously luxurious  compared to her own living conditions, that it takes her breath away. She hasn’t even seen Pureblood households this well put together despite having been in quite a few of them by now.

Nott runs a hand brutishly though his hair and stares at her again.

“I told you that you were needed at a specific time and you completely disregarded what i said and put yourself in imminent danger. This is why you lot can't win this war- you just cannot work as a system. You can't be satisfied as a cog in a greater mechanism. You always have to be the hero.”

Hermione scowls.

“But whatever right? As long as the Dark Lord is dead and we can all get married and have babies,” he says sarcastically.

“Are you mocking Gin and Harry?” she asks.

“Don't forget Remus and Nymphadora,” Nott grumbles, rolling his eyes and collapsing onto another armchair.

“Are you done yelling at me?” she ventures carefully.

“I was supposed to keep you safe, Granger,” he sighs heavily. “I take one hit, and when I wake up you've just disappeared. How does one even make a plan so fast? How did you even know what to do?”

She commands her face not to show any reaction to his words. 

“Moody had some intel,” she lies.

Nott narrows his eyes and she immediately knows her falsehood hasn't worked.

“Moody?” he says, sitting straight and leaning forward. “Moody didn't know what was happening when I confronted him.”

“You spoke to Moody?” she squeaks. “Shit. Shit impressive, I mean I didn't know you missed me so much..  hah. To talk to Moody. He's so busy usually.”

“He wasn't. He was waiting for you to return from a  _ scouting mission _ .”

Hermione fights the urge to groan. “Ah yes.”

Theodore raises a brow.  “Checking out old Pureblood estates for some property, are we now Granger?” 

She refuses to budge. “Sure. In terms of a good hideout, I think your house suits just fine.”

“So fine that you just  _ had _ to kidnap its owner?” he says drily. 

“Yeah well… at least we didn't steal anything important,” she huffs.

Theodore rolls his eyes again. “Full offense, but I don't see what Malfoy sees. You're a ridiculously hopeless cause.”

She flinches at the name and all of a sudden her heart starts thumping like a frightened rabbit.

“Full offence,” she mutters. “But I think you're the devil incarnate.”

Theodore notices and laughs. “Did you forget that he existed for a while there? Or do you just miss him? No matter. Either way he'll be here soon.”

Hermione winces. “Come on, Nott.  Is this really necessary? Just let me go and I promise I won't pry into your work again.”

“What? No way, this is just getting fun. I also wouldn't want to deny Draco the absolute  _ pleasure _ of seeing your face here.”

“Did you  _ order _ for me to be captured?” she frowns in displeasure and panic. 

Nott snorts. He actually snorts.

“No way, Granger. It's funnier than that, just listen. Maggie and her werewolf pal… um, the tall man- they both constantly hear Draco whine about you, your problems, and your righteousness and so on till forever. And somehow they've come to the conclusion that you were some  _ bitch _ that hurt his feelings and killed his dad,” Nott shrugs, no doubt containing his laughter. “Of course they know that you killed Lucius out of necessity, but Draco was so mad that he didn't get to do so himself, and that weird points-per-kill system you two have going on didn't help. The Americans are weird, and weirder so is the fact that they translated your messed up whatever-this-is into mutual hatred.”

“I'm pretty sure that's what it is entirely,” another voice cuts in darkly, and Hermione snaps her head around to the doorway to see a tall figure standing there with their arms crossed. 

“Oi mate,” Nott chuckles. “Didn't see you sulking there. Come in, come in- I was just telling your girlfriend why she got captured.”

“I'm  _ sure _ it's because I complain about her and not because she's a known enemy who's been constantly trying to intrude on our plans,” Malfoy says flatly, entering the room with one languid stride. “And she's not my girlfriend.”

Hermione feels her face pucker in a sneer and she wills herself to not get riled up by his words.

“I wouldn't dream of it anyway,” she spits, narrowing her eyes at him even as her mind tells her to not be cruel when she's at the fault. 

“Thank Merlin for that then,” Malfoy snaps back, still holding himself in a poised pose, with his arms across his chest and his head lifted.

She can see the expanse of his neck from where she sits; it's so milky pale and smooth. It disappears into the neat collar of a dark, woollen sweater that's so fitting that she can make out exactly how sharply his waist cuts in and widens out ever so slightly to accommodate the low slung pants he wears. She hates it. She hopes his clothes are flammable. 

“Stop ogling each other honestly,” Theodore exclaims suddenly. “I'm still here! Respect the third party.”

Hermione jerks her gaze upwards and barely manages to catch Malfoy directing his eyes towards the dresser to his left.

“The third party has been excused, and can leave,” the blond sighs, inclining his head towards the door. “Granger and I have stuff to chat about.”

Nott accepts this and claps a hand on Malfoy's shoulder, nodding on his way out. “The third party hears you loud and clear, mate. Just make sure I don't hear you two having sex because this room has an occupant who so politely lent it to us to use for now, and I'd like for them to not be traumatized after such a kindness.”

Malfoy stays stoic through his friend’s dramatic exit and when Hermione sees his passive face, she wishes she hadn't grimaced. They're having a standoff of sorts and she feels like she's losing.

Suddenly, Malfoy breathes loudly through his nose and extends an arm, his wand in hand. Hermione tries very hard not to flinch, but he only unbinds her restraints and she instead chooses to glare at him in return. When she rises to her feet sharply, Malfoy casually waves his wand so the door slams shut; effectively boxing them in.

“What were you thinking?” he asks, eyes hard.

“I don't have to tell you anything,” she responds haughtily. “Especially considering you haven't told me a dime of what you know.”

“Why were you going after Nott’s father?” Malfoy bats on, disregarding her dig at his silence.

“Because he has good real estate,” she snipes.

“Don't play with me, Hermione.”

“Oh so it's  _ Hermione _ now?”

“You deliberately put zero effort into creating a solid plan for your venture and in doing so you completely disrupted my plans as well!”

“I didn't make mistakes deliberately! We just had so little time to catch up to you,” Hermione defends, arms darting out to her sides as her anger flares up.

Malfoy rolls his eyes sharply and peers down at her like she's a bug in his potions cauldron, ruining his perfect brew.

“You attacked a high profile Death Eater with two decent wizards and a rookie,” he enunciates each word carefully like she's hard of hearing.

“They're not decent! They're good duelists and even better friends!”

“That's exactly what we need to win this war and stay alive, Granger. Friends.”

“Just because you don't have any,” she mutters icily.

“I have  _ allies _ ,” Malfoy points out sharply, face bent towards her so she can see the tension in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes. “And my allies are resourceful and efficient. And dependable, unlike your friends.”

“I hate how you keep saying the Order can't do anything. Those are my people, Malfoy! We can win this war too-,”

“Then win it your own way,” he snaps loudly, pulling himself away from her and stepping back. “Win it your own damn way and stay out of mine. Go make friends with Voldemort or string daisies for Greyback.”

“Fine. And you sit here braiding Maggie’s hair and being a snivelly ferret!”

“Resorting to playground insults,Hermione?”

“Really? You're going to school me on playground insults?” 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I guess I'm just surprised you haven't called me a mudblood yet, that's all,” she spits.

If there was a way for Malfoy to get anymore distant and closed off, then this was it. His eyes completely shuttered out all emotion and the set of his jaw clamped down all the more harder. His lean fingers balled into pale fists at his sides and she immediately wanted to take back what she'd said.

“Good point, Granger,” he says flatly. “Very relevant to this conversation. I'll take note of your concern and put it to use later. But for now, if uou could kindly stay the fuck away-,”

“Malfoy come on.”

“I'm not asking. I'm  _ telling _ you to leave my plans alone.”

“I  _ know _ about the vassals. I know who they are and I can help you bring them down-,”

“You can go home now,” he speaks over her. “Theodore will have a portkey ready. Your  _ friends _ must be worried.”

“I'm still talking to you!” she protests. 

“Well, I don't really want to talk.”

“Malfoy  _ please,  _ I just want to help!”

He starts to stride towards the door and all she can think of is how much she doesn't want this to end. She doesn't want him to be angry, she doesn't want him to leave and she doesn't want him to get the last word. 

“Let me be a spy for you!” she says really quickly and loudly into the silence of the room. “I can spy on the Order for you and help with your plans as well.”

He pauses mide-stride. “I already have a spy in the Order. Did you forget Nott?”

“Then  _ you _ can join  _ us _ !”

He turns around just to shoot her an unamused glare. “That will work out so well for me.”

“We accepted Nott-,”

“No, Granger. These are my plans, anyway. I don't have to do anything extra- I'm alreading doing exactly what needs to be done.”

She scowls and runs a finger over the knuckles of her other hand. “I can't leave the Order, Malfoy.”

“That sucks for you.”

“They're my friends and family,” she continues. 

“I'm leaving.”

“Malfoy  _ please, _ ” she begs, voice faltering mid-plea. “I really want to take him down.”

She meets his stony grey eyes with some hesitance and is mildly surprised to see the affection in them; bright and clear.

“There's nothing I can do but ask you to join me,” he says, voice smoother and tinged with some emotion. 

While they stand there staring at each other with the large gap seperating them, she begins to feel empty and she isn't sure why.

Soon she will be returning to Harry and Ron and they can continue to crack Malfoy's plans. Soon she will be with her chosen family. Soon she will be where she calls home.

But she wants to be here. Near him. Close enough to see his secret smiles and by the side of a man who isn't afraid to acknowledge her worth. And near enough to be at the heart of the action; in a place where she can be exactly who she wants to be.

But she can't bring herself to just leave the people she's fought with her whole life. These are the people who know her inside and out; the ones who have held her through her first years in the magical world. Doesn't she owe them some kind of respect? She can't just leave without a word.

Malfoy is studying her as they stand there, his eyes darting subtly as he takes in her lool of disconcertion, the tension in her stance and the despair in her own eyes.

He nods at her continued silence and makes for the door. She follows him at a distance, visibly upset.

When she passes him through the doorway she hears him clear his throat and she looks up in return, catching his downturned gaze.

“I wish there was something I think of that would let you help me while at the Order,” he says roughly, eyes shifting away from hers.

The action brings a soft smile to her lips and she bows her head. 

“I know,” she says. “And I'm sorry for dredging up the past. It was unfair.”

He grunts and she can hear it through his chest which is at level with her face. 

“I never apologised well enough for that,” he disagrees. “So it is my fault.”

She shrugs, mildly pleased at his words.

“I was a right git,” he mutters. 

“Worse,” she laughs unexpectedly. “But its alright. You've saved my life quite a few times now, I suppose that overshadows you being an arsehole in school.”

She looks up to find him staring at her with eyes that  _ burn  _ intensely and she finds she can't look away. He sways gently towards her; as if pulled by some invisible gravitational force that's forcing him forward and towards her.

She bites her lip anxiously and he blinks free of the intensity of the moment and abruptly moves into the hallway, closing the door behind him as he goes.

“Let's find Theo,” he suggests, voice gruff. “He'll have the portkey ready.”

“How do you just have portkeys like it's candy from Honeydukes?” she asks, traipsing the narrow corridor that leads them into a well furnished waiting room complete with a floo.

Malfoy shrugs, his sweater riding up as he does so, revealing a glorious stretch of taut, pale skin.

Hermione flushes and stares hard the fireplace. “It's amazing what money can do for you,” she forces out, chasing away the sinful thoughts flooding her mind, unbidden.

Malfoy makes a noise of disapproval that makes her look back at him.

“Unless you have something good in here,” he says sternly, tapping a finger to her forehead before dropping it lower to tap at the skin just below her collarbone. “And here, then money will only take you down.”

“Speaking from experience?” she asks a little breathelessly at the feeling of his finger lingering.

Malfoy smirks. “I have a splendid track history with wealth  _ and _ failure.”

“Don't be so harsh,” she laughs softly, admiring the way he smiles back, a little carefree amd a little excited. “You've learned from the mistakes of your family and the society that you grew up in. Look at you now- leading a rebellion.”

“Only you'd ever see the benefits in someone like me, Granger,” he shakes his head. 

“Are you going to tell me not to waste my time with the likes of you?” she teases, half hoping he doesn't say yes and ruin her day.

“Have you forgotten who you were talking to?” Malfoy laughs. “I exist purely to have a stunning witch lavish me with attention and desire.”

She swats his arm in faux annoyance and scrunches her nose in reply. “You're such a prat.”

“Yea, but you like it,” he smirks. “Merlin knows why.”

“I should go,” she says quietly, watching his smile dim.

“Maybe not just yet,” a voice says, making hem out of their skin and duck away from each other. 

Maggie walks into the room, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. 

“Mr. Nott is awake,” she tells Malfoy. 

He glances at Hermione and then back at the American witch. “Well, that's what we wanted.”

Maggie shakes her head. “Let me explain. He's awake but he won't talk. Because he cannot remember.”

“He what?”

“His memory is sealed shut. Rivens is doing what he can but he is not that skilled in Legilimency. I must request that she stay, considering the situation,” Maggie states, throwing Hermione a distrustful glare.

Malfoy squints in confusion. “Hermione isn't a trained Legilimens either- let me call my godfather. He's a strong Occlumens and will probably know what to do-,”

“You don't understand,” Maggie interrupts, tapping her heeled shoes gently against the floor in impatience. “She locked it. She sealed the memory.”

_ What? _

Malfoy turns to stare at Hermione, and she widens her eyes at him to convey her confusion. “I did nothing of the sort!” she protests, lifting her palms up.

“Granger just undo and it will be fine,” he says, still eyeing her strangely.

“I didn't do anything Malfoy,” she insists. “I just entered his mind, saw the vision and he kicked me out.”

“Why do you think its her doing?” Malfoy asks Maggie. “He could very well have sealed it himself. Give Jesse some time with him and you'll have answers in no time.”

Maggie rolls her eyes. “The man cannot access his own memories and he's  _ dying.  _ He's been consistently poisoned by us and then tortured by this girl- if he loses any more blood we'll lose our information. Jesse cannot be allowed to torture him for anything.”

“But I didn't lock any memories away,” Hermione presses. 

“I didn't know you were a Legilimens,” Malfoy mutters, peering at her quietly. 

“I'm not,” she mumbles. “Not really. I just peeked in and left, that's all.”

Maggie huffs and uncrosses her arms. “I'm taking Rivens’ word for it as I cannot perform the spell myself- but he accurately described you to me having never set eyes upon you in his life. If you're still unsure then follow me and we'll hear his account.”

Malfoy looks at Hermione and she nods feverishly. 

He sighs heavily and rakes a hand through his hair

“Fine. Let's go.”

 


	13. Battle Angel Granger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! Thanks for the continued support. I want to respond to reviews here in case some of you never see my replies. (If this is not necessary, let me know)
> 
> Ditte3: Thanks love! Sorry for making you wait :/
> 
> LittleRedGine: Sexual tension is my absolute favourite tension. Also sorry for the slight cliffy haha
> 
> vjc: I WANT THEM TO KISS ALL THE TIME BUT PLOT AHCK
> 
> Torrilin: I love your comments. Also the use of kilts is duly noted.
> 
> Elvina al: I'm so glad you like the story! It will continue <3

Hermione eyes Maggie as the witch leads them through the decorated household and down into some sort of basement. The American is stoic and unwavering as she mutters to Malfoy about something that's being said too quietly to be heard.

Hermione can't still wrap her head around the fact that she Crucio’d this woman a while ago, and then got socked in the face after she'd turned into a  _ bird. _

Of course she had to be an animagus. 

Fucking hell.

Maybe Malfoy speaks some truth when he nags at her for not planning things through.

They stop at a door that's heavily warded with magic but Malfoy only has to pass a hand through the barrier to unlock it. Hermione is sure there's more complicated magic involved, but he pushes her into the room before she can pause to think more about it.

A man stands in the room, arms crossed as he talks to Nott Senior who is bound to a much less comfy chair compared to what Hermione had found herself in. He's a few heads shorter than Jesse so Hermione rules that name out. His clothes are similar to the other Americans, but his hair hangs in long dreads and the ends change colour mesmerizingly. 

“Did you ever write a will though?” the wizard asks the old man who obviously fails to respond due to his being unconscious and close to death. “I mean- that land’s gonna get torn apart by your Ministry if you don't say  _ something- _ ,”

“Rivens,” Maggie barks. “Stop conversing with the prisoner. Brit Purebloods don't need your help protecting their wealth.”

“Oh shit, Mags, you're here,” the man jumps, laughing awkwardly. “Holy shit- how did you find her? That's the girl!”

He stares wide eyed at Hermione and has his wand drawn even though he doesn't point it at anyone. 

“Shit Mags… that's definitely the girl in the old man’s head! She's the one in the memory!”

“I'm Hermione Granger,” Hermione introduces herself carefully. “But I swear I didn't do anything to that memory.”

Rivens huffs out a shaky laugh. “Sure, love. Except for the fact that I just ran into a mental wall so dense and heavily guarded by a crazy haired witch that looks just like you. Nothing you say is going to change the facts. You've tampered with his memory somehow.”

Hermione sighs in frustration. “I didn't mean to, honestly.”

“Be it purposefully or by accident, it's pretty impressive, so you should be proud,” Rivens tells her in an assuring voice. “Nice to meet you, I'm Adam by the way.”

Malfoy clears his throat obnoxiously, dragging their attention to him.

“Show Granger the memory,” he says brusquely. Hermione shakes her head quickly, backing away. “Maybe I shouldn't go anywhere near his head for the time being.”

“Fine, then I’ll check it myself,” the blond shrugs.

He shoulders his way past the others and crouches in front of Theo’s father. He sits still for a few seconds before drawing back and rising to his feet, exhaling a gush of air. 

“That was fast,” Rivens says; wide eyed.

“Granger you've fucked him up real good,” Malfoy says, ignoring the other wizard and throwing Hermione a harsh stare. 

She frowns at him. “I  _ said _ I didn't do it on purpose!”

“Okay, I didn't know you  _ both _ were Legilimens,” Adam Rivens pipes up again, shaking his head so his dreads sway disconcertingly. “Is it common in Britain? Is everyone strong at mental magics?”

“Hermione is only a beginner,” Malfoy replies, raising a brow at her huff of indignation. “And I lived with the Dark Lord so my skills are a little… exceptional.”

Hermione scowls at him, riled. “It's only because Snape actually likes you that you have this much practise-,” 

“I’ve had many teachers, Granger- or did you forget my crazy aunt Bella?” Malfoy says with a saccharine smile. 

“How could I?” Hermione bites back, an equally strained smile stretching her lips. “I had such a  _ lovely _ time with her that day that she  _ tortured _ me...  in your house wasn’t it?” 

Malfoy nearly growls, stepping close to her.

“Granger-,”

“Don't play this game, Malfoy-,”

“Children!” Maggie shouts, exasperatedly. “Can we please stop bickering!” 

They fall silent; standing tensely as they glare at each other with eyes narrowed, grimaces across their faces.

“What can you tell us of the memory?” Rivens says smoothly, alarmed at the sudden unsavoury turn of events. “I'm sure you saw  _ something _ , Hermione.” 

“Rivens, get out,” Malfoy demands, whirling to face the startled American. “We can handle this without you.” 

Maggie slaps a palm to her forehead and Rivens awkwardly shuffles in place as if unsure if Malfoy is being serious.

“What is wrong with you?” Hermione snaps, glaring at the blond. “He's just trying to help us. Help  _ you _ actually.”

“Stay out of this, Granger,” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “He doesn't need your defense.”

“Well  _ you _ need  _ my _ help,” Hermione huffs. “And I refuse to give it to you of you continue being such an arse!”

Malfoy squints at her in annoyance but backs down anyway, much to her surprise. 

“Okay,” Rivens says slowly. “Do I leave or do I stay?”

“Stay,” Hermione sighs. “You wanted to know what was in the memory. I saw a ritual… possibly the ritual that the nine went through to become Voldemort's vassals. There were nine supplicants but I could only make out thr-  _ two _ people.”

Maggie raises her brows and Rivens lets out a slow whistle. 

“You saw two of nine faces,” the American witch says, looking unimpressed with the information. 

“Hey, that's more than what we have seen,” Rivens admits gently. “I think she's done quite well.”

“Don't be too quick to praise me,” Hermione grumbles. “One of them was Mr. Nott obviously, and the other was Lucius Malfoy.”

Malfoy exhales through gritted teeth. “Great. Nott is out for the count and Lucius is dead. Just  _ great _ .” 

“There must be more memories though!” Hermione interjects. “Nott wouldn't have kicked me out for no reason. He was half dead and he used all his strength to kick me out of his head. There must be more that he doesn't want us to know.”

“And you being such a rookie, you destroyed his mind on the way out,” Malfoy groans. 

“Maybe not,” Rivens intervenes blessedly. “Maybe she merely left her mark in place. If his mind were ruined then it would be a hopeless mess, but it is not. It's fortified. I think you subconsciously locked a part of your magic within his mental walls.”

“That's unheard of,” Malfoy frowns while Hermione gapes unflatteringly.

Even Maggie looks unconvinced.

Rivens bounces excitedly and flits around them to stand beside Nott Senior’s slumped form. His hair sways as he moves around in excitement and the dull room glows with the colours of his dreads. 

“Ok I know it sounds batshit crazy,” he acknowledges cheerily. “But stay with me. To use mental magic is to use magic by the power of thought. So why is it unreasonable to think that when Hermione was being booted out of Nott’s mind, her magic stubbornly left something behind in retaliation?”

“It's not that it's unreasonable,” Maggie says drily. “It's just also ridiculous.”

Rivens laughs. “Fine, but I'll bet you anything that she can open it for us.”

All eyes turn to Hermione and she withers under the intensity of their expectant stares. 

Shit. 

Should she help them? This is what she's been waiting for! But… helping them would be something she can never come back from. She can pretend like she doesn't know Malfoy after the war is over, but if she helps them now she can never go back on it. She'll have to tell Harry and Ron. 

Shit. 

“I- I guess I can,” she mutters, heart thumping as she tries to buy herself some time. “But not now. I have to go back. You don't want the Order to try and hunt me down now do you?”

Rivens chuckles uncomfortably and Maggie grunts. 

“I doubt they'd be much of an issue,” the witch mutters and Hermione ignores her. 

Malfoy slowly nods and gestures for the door. “It's your call, Granger. This would be a favour after all- although you could potentially learn more if you helped us with this.”

“You're not subtle in the least,” Hermione snorts at his attempt to influence her into assisting his side get the information. “And I never said I wouldn't. I just said I couldn't right now.”

The blond smirks lightly and directs her towards the door, not allowing her to pause to say goodbye.

* * *

 

They emerge onto the porch and she hears the door click shut behind them as the blond herds her out.

“Why?” she manages to ask before Malfoy takes her by the elbow to whirl her around so that she faces him.

_ OH my god, he's going to kiss me, _ she thinks vividly before he smirks and shakes his head.

“Almost but not quite,” he says much to her potent dismay. “I know you left out Greyback.”

“What?” Hermione mumbles weakly. 

“When you mentioned the supplicants that you had seen, you left out Greyback. I suppose you wanted to keep an upper hand with your information- also possibly because you already have him in custody. Which I know you do because Theo is the one who  _ helped _ you bag him that night.”

Hermione scowls and yanks her elbow back. “You read my mind?” 

He smirks wider. “It's  _ very _ loud.” 

“That's not fair, Malfoy!”

“Granger, anyone with some skill can rifle around in your memories. What's the bet Rivens was crawling around in your head as well?” he returns with a huff.

“You are a jealous prick,” she grumbles, grimacing at his extraordinarily excited face.

“I'm so glad you noticed,” he preens. “I thought I'd have to deck him in the face for you to realise.”

“You can't just hit people you don't like,” Hermione groans.

Malfoy grins like a shark, stepping minutely closer as he does so. 

“Oh but you can, Hermione” he says in a sickly sweet voice. “My left cheekbone distinctly remembers your fist.”

She flushes at that and places her palms against his chest to create space. 

“I'm not making out with you now,” she says, half out of spite and half out of the realisation that someone had Apparated onto the lawn behind her. 

Malfoy takes no notice and laughs. “It's no one important.”

He looks over her head to flash a grin at whoever had arrived and Hermione hears them huff haughtily. 

The voice sends a light shiver down her spine. 

_ That's a privileged Pureblood scoff if I've ever heard one. _

Malfoy waves at the newcomer and Hermione turns to see Pansy Parkinson stride past them, face neutral, yet icy cold. The rhythmic clack of her heeled shoes disappears into the house and Hermione turns her face up to Malfoy’s when they're out of earshot.

“You're not going to fight us for Greyback are you?” she asks carefully.

He muses over her query and sighs. “We might have to.”

“Don't fight us.”

“Afraid you'll lose?” 

“I just don't want to fight  _ you _ ,” she snaps. 

Malfoy sighs heavily this time and steps away,running a hand through his neat hair and messing it up so it sticks out in odd angles. Its strangely endearing but she wills herself not to think so too loudly.

“I can't help it,” he says. “We have to keep our plans in motion, and if we need Greyback then that's what we'll have to do. We'll have to fight you for him.”

“Can't you hold off for a while?” she grumbles, knowing that the Order would suffer greatly from such a hit. 

“I don't call the shots here, as much as I'd like to pretend.”

Hermione scowls. “Sure.”

Malfoy just shrugs and says nothing more on the matter. He rifles in the pockets of his pants, and when he produces absolutely nothing from them he twists his ring off his finger and hands it to her.  

“Take this and keep it on you at all times,” he says somewhat tersely. “I'll charm it so that it'll heat up when I need you.”

He chest trills at the words but she wills her face to remain neutral. “And then what?”

“Then you meet me at the Malfoy cemetery,” he continues, drawing out his wand to cast the charm. “Specifically by Lucius’ tombstone. I'll show you a memory, just focus on that and Apparate.”

“Wait what?” Hermione pauses, yanking her palm and the ring away from his wand. “You want to meet me at your dad’s grave?”

“Yes?”

“That's not morbid in the least.”

Malfoy scowls and she sees an image of a rather lavish garden appear in her mind before he replies.

“Listen it's only temporary, and it's one of the few places I can think of that no one will ever have any inclination to visit. Ever.”

She rolls the heavy signet ring in her hand and thinks. 

“Why can't I portkey back here?” she asks carefully.

This time Malfoy actually looks around before speaking, grey eyes shifting subtly before focusing on her.

“I can't tell you the things you want to know,” he says.

_ Not if we're here. _

She hears the rest of the sentence in her head and steps back in shock.

“Did you just  _ speak _ in my mind?” she whispers hastily.

“Shut up, shut up,” Malfoy grits back, equally quietly.

“Are you being held hostage here?” she stage whispers in reply. “What's going on?”

“You are our enemy, dammit,” he responds, stepping close to cover the gap she had created between them. 

“So why meet me at all?”

“Because if you answer the call that means you want to help and why shouldn't I help you in return?” 

“Because I'm your enemy!” she hisses. “Isn't that why you haven't told me anything all this time? Isn't that what you  _ just said? _ ”

“Ugh but I also happen to like you, you dumb witch,” he grunts, voice no longer as quiet as it should have been. “So just… turn up if you want to know things.”

Her heart skips an involuntary beat. 

“I always want to know things,” she nods hastily, blood thumping in her veins as she takes in the weight of what he's saying.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and straightens his back, looking over her head instead of at her. “I knew I could count on your thirst for knowledge. See you around, Granger.”

He casts a nonverbal spell on the ring in her palm before stepping away gracefully. He waves a hand, turning to head for the door as she stands there a little confused.

“Nott's disappeared so I'll let the wards down for you to Apparate through. But only for a minute so I suggest you go quickly. Stay alive, Granger.” 

The door shuts behind him and Hermione remembers his warning about the time limit for escape and hurriedly Apparates herself away, thinking of a street a few blocks from Grimmauld Place. It's only when she lands on her feet in the destroyed road, the street itself torn up by explosive spells that she realises something had gone wrong back then. She quietly makes her way through the old ruins around her as she tries to think of why Malfoy had gotten so weird at the end. He'd closed off again and become formal and strange. 

She steps over rubble and presses the signet ring he'd given her tightly in her fist. 

She knows she'll answer him when the time comes. She knows she will go to help him.

But what's not clear is whether she'll tell her friends, or even how much she would tell them. She opens her hand and stares at the piece of Pureblood jewellery. 

As she stalks through the remains of Claremont Square, Hermione twists the ring onto her fingers one by one and realises that it's far too large to fit on any of them. 

The detailed crest on the face of the signet tells her that no charm will adjust its size to fit her- at least none cast by her, impure as she was. So she settles for carefully letting it sit in the depths of her pocket. 

It's only when she's a few feet away from where Grimmauld Place sits, invisible to all else, that she violently remembers that she hadn't responded to his confession yet again. He'd told her that he'd liked her countless times now and she'd always been going on about something else instead of acknowledging his feelings. 

Stupid!

_ This is why boys give up on you, Hermione,  _ she tells herself angrily.  _ You're such a twat. _

She kicks a stone harshly and passes through the entrance to the building, the wards allowing her through. The phoenix carved onto her back warms as it grants her entrance and she mentally prepares herself for her return to the Order. 

It's when Mad Eye greets her with a fierce glare that she remembers what had unsettled her the most about the past half hour. 

There was no way she could've seen Pansy Parkinson enter Malfoy’s hideout because Pansy Parkinson was dead. 

Dead and seven feet under.

Because Mad Eye had killed her for killing Professor McGonagall and Hermione had seen it with her own eyes.

* * *

 

Harry and Ron circle her like overly concerned vultures who are worried that their prey will die too soon.

She watches them with a twitchy eye and tries to ignore their dramatic reactions. Moody himself hadn't been angry so much as mildly put out. Luckily, the boys hadn't told him exactly what had happened to her, so all she had had to do was tell him she had been visiting her old home and he'd more or less backed off. And yet here were her self-appointed protectors and childhood friends, posturing like knights of a vanguard, sworn to ensure her safety. 

“We thought you were dead,” Ron intones heavily.

“Or worse, stuck in Malfoy’s dungeons,” Harry adds, voice equally grave.

They take turns reciting their worries to her and she patiently waits them out.

“We were about to  _ destroy _ him, ‘Mione!” Ron exclaims.

“We wanted to make him pay! He can't just steal you like that!”

“Harry was prepared to gather all our forces-,”

“HERMIONE!” 

Ginny Weasley bursts through the door and into the small room they’re boxed into, with Hermione sitting in the only chair. The redhead grabs her into a large hug and lets her go to check her face and arms for any signs of harm.

“Are you alright? Did anything happen to you?” she mumbles frantically.

“Gin! There's a reason we didn't tell you to come!” Ron whines.

“Yeah, love,” Harry mutters, adjusting his glasses. “Hermione needs to know she can't just go against the team like that.”

“She could’ve been killed!” Ginny growls, grabbing Hermione's hand. “Are you two insane? Why isn't she with Madam Pomfrey or mom?”

“She's fine,” Ron scoffs. “It was just Malfoy.”

It was almost as if they hadn't  _ just _ been telling her about how they'd wanted to burn Malfoy's operation to the ground. 

“Malfoy's people had you in some unknown curse for ages, you oaf,” Ginny reprimands him. “And you, Harry, should know enough about him to know that he is only a rotten coward-,”

“Not this again Gin,” her husband groans. “I  _ told _ you he was alright.”

“Then why did his people kidnap Hermione?”

Harry and Ron both open their mouths to respond and come up short. The three turn to face Hermione and she groans at their identical expectant expressions.

“This is not how I wanted to explain it all,” she mumbles. “Can't we talk over tea?”

“No,” Ginny demands, casting a charm over the room. “Muffliato is up- start talking.”

Hermione pretends to be amused as she runs over her story in her head.

“Malfoy wanted Nott Senior, obviously,” she starts carefully.

Slow and steady. 

“They were there for him and they took him. But… well this is where it gets a bit strange,” she continues. “Maggie thought I was the one orchestrating the mission on our side… probably cause I was being so bossy, but she kidnapped me to try and get rid of their competition.”

“What?” Ron frowns.  “She knows Harry is worth way more than you, no offense.”

“None taken,” Hermione rolls her eyes. “Maybe she got her Brits messed up. Either way, Malfoy wanted nothing to do with me obviously and was about to let me go-,”

“Wait!” Harry interrupts. “You met Malfoy? What did he say? Did you learn anything? Where did you meet him? Were you in his hideout? What was he wearing?”

Hermione crinkles her nose in disgust at the last question and Ginny slaps her forehead noisily.

“Why does it matter what he was wearing?” the redhead asks. 

“Maybe we can identify where his hideout is depending on the weather he's dressed for,” Harry explains, rubbing his chin with his thumb and staring into a corner of the room thoughtfully. “If he's wearing something casual maybe he's in some tropical country-,”

“Harry,  _ honestly _ . He's a wizard, he can adjust the temperature in his hideout to be anything he wants,” Hermione groans. 

“And that's not what we should be concerned about anyway,” Ginny waves at him in askance. “We should be worried about what he actually did or said to her.”

“Firstly, you needn't be so worried, I can take care of myself,” Hermione cuts in. “Secondly, he was only mildly pissed off actually. He told me to stay away and then was about to kick me out when Maggie turned up and said I'd destroyed Mr. Nott's mind and that I needed to unscramble it to help them get the information they wanted.”

The other three stare at her with mouths wide open as she rushes through the last part of her story. She watches as Ron heaves a strangled breath and Ginny turns a frightening shade of mottled purple.

“Please tell me you didn't help that slimy git,” she bites out, hands clenching her wand tightly.

“Of course I didn't,” Hermione hedges uncomfortably. “I knew I had the upper hand there so I asked for some time. But I didn't know if he'd let me go if I outright disagreed.”

She mentally crosses her fingers and watches to see if her friends would believe her altered story. “He could have just imprisoned me… or something.”

It sounded lame even to her ears.

“That's something Malfoy could do,” Harry agrees conspiratorially, breaking the silence.

She sighs in relief. 

She should've known she could trust on dear old Harry to make anything into a conspiracy against Draco Malfoy. Her friend could try and convince them all that Malfoy was alright- he might even fight on Draco’s behalf after the war- but nothing could erase that small part of him that was obsessed with tying Malfoy into every suspicious plot that has ever occured on the planet Earth.  

Hermione grins awkwardly. “It sure is. So I asked for some time to think on it and bolted as soon as I got the chance to come and tell you guys all about it.”

Ron rubs his hands together in an eerie show of excitement- his eyes bright with glee. “Finally some good bloody news!”

Ginny huffs. “I'd disagree.”

“What do you mean? This is Malfoy  _ asking _ for  _ our _ help, Gin! We have the upper hand finally. We can use this to our advantage,” Ron exclaims. “Hermione you should help and ask for answers in return!”

Harry frowns lightly. “Let's not jump too far ahead on this-,”

“Way too late, Harry,” Ron chuckles. “I've got a brilliant plan. Hermione should double cross Malfoy like Theodore double crossed Voldemort!”

Hermione winces and refrains from thinking about how  _ Theodore _ was double crossing them as well and Ron was clueless about it. 

“I don't think that's a good idea at all,” Ginny intervenes glumly. “But I doubt anyone would listen to me.”

Harry adjusts his glasses again and tries to reason with them all. “Let's think this through. What is it that Malfoy even wants from old Nott? Do we even know?”

“Yes!” Hermione remembers. “He wants information about the vassals from Nott’s memories. I saw one memory before the old man iced me out of his head. Somehow I've locked his memory with my own magic as well so there might be a way that I can open it again and seek more memories.”

“What did you see?” Ginny asks.

Hermione tells them, including the fact that she saw Greyback in the memory as well. Harry returns to thinking deeply while staring into the distance and Ron whistles lowly. 

“This is some messed up shite,” he mumbles.

Harry nods. “Do we have to hunt these people down like the horcruxes?”

“Yes! Another dangerous road trip. That part was my favourite part of sixth year,” Ron says sarcastically.

“Well, we don't really know how to get rid of them,” Hermione admits. “But maybe I can get onto Malfoy’s page if I offer to help him. I can ask for something in return like Ron suggested.”

Harry blinks owlishly. “Yes. Yes… you can ask for his information.”

“Or resources for the Order,” Ginny adds reluctantly.

“Or an alliance!” Ron exclaims, rising to his feet and thumping a fist onto his open palm, startling the others. 

“Ron, don't be silly,” Ginny chastises as Hermione stays silent, her heart leaping like a rabbit in her chest. 

Harry shakes his head as well. “That's too much to ask for, and far too soon. He'll have the upper hand then. We don't have much to offer except for Hermione.”

“Pshtt,” Ron chides. “I'm sure we can think of something. Didn't you say Greyback was a vassal? Maybe we can share-,”

“No,” Harry says sharply. “Nothing we do with Malfoy can ever jeopardise Greyback’s imprisonment. If we lose him, we may never be able to get our hands on him again. He must stand trial after the war for all the horrific crimes he committed. Whatever we do we must keep Greyback with us.”

Hermione suppresses the chills that run down her spine at Harry's words. “Fine. Then what can we do?” 

“Can we interrogate Greyback ourselves?” Ginny pipes up thoughtfully. “Do you think they'd let us?”

Harry winces. “Let me try and figure something out. I could appeal to Kingsley if he's not busy.”

“Kingsley would never agree,” Hermione scoffs. “And anyway, I'm not sure I'm a strong enough Legilimens to really break into that werewolf’s head.”

“You did Imperio him,” Ron reminds her kindly. “That was badass.”

Hermione shrugs lightly. “True, but he's accustomed to Voldemort’s torture and Legilimency- I doubt I can rival that.”

Harry shudders visibly. “Ugh. Enough about them. I swear I can still sense Voldemort from beyond the Veil. My scar just  _ itches  _ sometimes and I just know its him.”

“I thought you had dandruff,” Ginny admits openly, missing Harry’s look of incredulity.

“He tells you he can still sense the evil overlord we thought had died and all you can say is that you thought his scalp was dry?” Hermione snorts, surprised. 

Ginny rears back defensively. “You haven't seen the way he scratches his head!”

Harry groans and rubs at his temples with both hands. “I do put some effort into my hygiene, you know-,”

“Oi mate,” Ron interrupts. “Didn't you go three weeks without bathing that one time when we were in Scotland? Remember? Your hair looked like Crookshanks when the bastard gets all matted and gross, no offense Hermione.”

Ginny shoots a look of horror at her husband and Harry winces with no amount of grace.

“In my defense we were hiding in a  _ literal _ hole in the ground!”

His wife has no remorse however and only pretends to gag while Ron continues blithely reminiscing their times spent at the front lines of the war, and Hermione slowly recedes into her mind, thinking about how she'd kept running into Malfoy all those years ago and how she very much wants to do so again.

* * *

 

 

“You actually came,” he says in awe when she steps carefully over yet another pristine white gravestone as she picks her way through the gardens.

She clutches her coat to her frame despite there being no real chill in the air, and trains her eyes on the grass beneath her feet so as not to accidentally make eye contact with the man waiting for her.

He's standing by a large construct of marble; an angel opening his chest to the sky as if to plead a case for the man lying six feet below it, deep in the soil. The statue is mildly pulsing with magic and the very grounds she walks across thrum with latent magical energy; embodied in the mystical foliage that crawls across the pure white slabs of stone and their perfectly carved guardians. The air is positively laden with simmering power and she feels her steps grow lighter and her magic spark with more energy as she treks further into the cemetery. 

_ Leylines _ , she thinks glumly, wondering why the Malfoys were so fortunate even in death.

“What are you thinking about?” she hears him ask politely.

She wonders whether he actually isn't peering into her mind. She violently thinks of Snape riding Scabbers into battle and is mildly impressed when Malfoy doesn't seem to flinch.

So he's playing the part of the gentleman. Good on him.

She avoids stepping on a plaque laid into the ground as she takes her place across from him, and tries very hard not to look at his face. 

Which is impossible because he's just that damn charming when he wants to be. The utter prat.

“I'm glad you answered,” she hears him say, voice rumbling in his chest. “We do have a lot to speak about.”

Her eyes flick upward to catch the ghost of a smile on his lips, his eyes holding her gaze captive immediately. His hair is neat again, sadly, but the stubble on his chin makes up for the severity of the slick blond style. He's in an immaculate dress shirt with the top button undone, the sleeves rolled up his forearms, an emerald stud on his collar that glints in the wan morning sunlight and pressed trousers that look like they cost a fucking fortune.

“Please tell me you transfigured something to look like that,” she says involuntarily, not entirely meaning to sneer. “And not that you actually own clothes like this during a war.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes as if to humor her. “Did you forget what lineage I come from? We could be rotting corpses, Granger and we'd still do it in style.”

He doesn't need to gesture at the stunning headstones around her to drive his point home. She acknowledges this with a scowl and crosses her arms.

“You called?” she mutters, only a little bitter as she rolls his signet ring between the fingers of one hand.

“And you answered,” he responds in delight, features bright. “Let me repeat how much I appreciate that.”

“I only aim to please,” she says with a put upon obnoxious smile.

Malfoy smirks back. “All the better for me.”

She'd meant that in harmless jest, of course, but the insinuation behind his words, and the darkness in his tone, make her pulse jump as if stung.

“What are we here for, again?” she presses on, wrapping her coat around her body tighter. 

Malfoy rubs his palms together casually and inhales. “Well you've been an annoying thorn in my side these past months; begging for information every time I see you. And while I can't deny that I've wanted to share it with you many of those times as well, I couldn't risk my plans failing. But now I need your help dearly, Granger, and I'm ready to tell you what you want to know in exchange that you would mine Nott’s mind for me.”

“Anything?” she asks, unable to keep her eyes from widening.

“Whatever you want to know,” Malfoy nods. “Except some things.”

“You can't do that,” she huffs immediately. 

“Some things need to stay secret for the safety of others,” Malfoy shrugs. “Do what you will, but until you have the necessary clearance, that information stays with me.”

“I'm a Legilimens too, Malfoy,” she reminds him.

“Try me,” he smirks. 

She grunts in annoyance and imagines strangling him with her bare hands. 

This man could damn well crawl under her skin if he put his mind to it. The utter prat.

“Fine,” she all but snaps. “Tell me how we can defeat the vassals.”

* * *

The sun has barely crested the treetops when he finishes, and the two of them silently decide that neither are in a hurry to leave just yet. They maintain a careful distance; Hermione seated atop a box shaped marble grave of sorts and Malfoy leaning up against it a few feet away. She feels his eyes on her every now and then, but they are in new territory now and she doesn't know how to navigate these waters. 

Instead, she stares at his exposed forearms, at where the ugly tattoo undulates across his smooth skin. It's ridiculous how much that drawing unnerves her. 

She knows it must seem rude but Malfoy makes no move to cover it so she makes no effort to hide the disgust on her face. 

“Did someone get paid to draw that thing?” she says suddenly, tired of looking at it and averting her eyes to the pale blue sky. “Like did an artistic Death Eater have to sit down and sketch it out and get approval or something?”

She doesn't know why she's saying this. 

Malfoy doesn't seem to understand either. “I doubt anyone was ever paid to do anything for him.”

“Yes but someone had to design it,” she says obstinately.

Malfoy shrugs, still mildly confused. “Maybe Voldemort did.”

She doesn't think that was it. “I doubt it. Did it hurt?”

“Like a bitch,” Malfoy grimaces, only now moving his arm slightly so that most of the mark is hidden against his chest. 

“Regret it?” 

“As is the case with most tattoos you get in your idiotic early teens,” he says, and she knows he's trying to lighten the mood.

“No, Malfoy,” she shakes her head. “Idiotic teens get their crushes’ names tattooed on their arses, not join a death cult.”

He laughs, but it's strained and she finds she doesn't like it.

“Are you having second thoughts about this?” he says casually, but she feels the air become stagnant around them.

“About what?” she plays dumb.

“About me.”

She frowns at the sky and wishes dearly that she had never answered the heated call of the stupid Malfoy ring, and that she'd never let Ron convince her this was a good idea, and that she'd never ever kissed Draco Malfoy.

So she does what smart witches do and she ignores the question.

_ You in there, Granger? Taking a quick nap? _

She turns to glare at Malfoy at the intrusion. “You- stop breaking into my mind!” she demands.

“It's only fair,” he returns, shrugging. “You were withholding and I wanted answers.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I'll tell you what's fair. You let me use a Legilimens on you for all the times you did so without my explicit permission.”

Malfoy chuckles quietly. “I already gave you vital information about the vassals and you haven't even helped me with Nott yet. Why should I?”

“Well, because you shouldn't have used Legilimency,” she upholds, shooting him a stern look. 

Malfoy seems to accept her poor logic for some reason, and he cocks his head to the side, appraising her in a way that's far too…  _ appraising. _

She casts the spell mentally and pushes forward. Malfoy's mental walls do not stand out like minds usually do when using the spell. He has no aura, no distinct mark. Just grey empty space that is not enticing or alluring. She pushes forward nonetheless. The walls are dense and she feels them open up for her instead of cave at her touch and she makes a note to complain about his assistance later on

Malfoy's head is plain and compartmentalised and she feels a headache growing as she tries to sift through the seemingly unending layers of mundane boxes upon boxes of empty memories-

“I can't,” she gasps, eyes flying open. “Oh my god it's stifling in there.”

She gulps for air as Malfoy watches her impassively, arms crossed a little tensely, but otherwise the same as before.

“You're not a fortress, you're an infinite trap,” Hermione exhales heavily. “That's impressive.”

The blond huffs out a breath that could probably be construed as a laugh if you ignored how sad it sounded. 

“Come on,” he says, stepping away from the gravestone to stand beside her knees. “I'll show you something.”

She startles at his proximity and lets him continue with his proposal. She closes her eyes and pushes back into his mind, and immediately a memory floats up to greet her like a poster carried across the wind, flying up to smack her in the face.

A small, golden haired boy shoots by on a toy broom, his cheeks chubby and eyes sparkling with glee. A tall woman follows him at a leisurely pace, a happy smile gracing her lips. She halts the broom with a wave of a hand and slowly plucks the boy off the contraption. He looks beyond delighted with the interruption somehow and takes the woman’s face into as big of a hug as his little arms can create. 

It's touching to say the least and she blinks her eyes open to meet Malfoy's grey ones, his hair much whiter and the chubby cheeks melted away into sharp lines. 

“You were a fat baby,” she tells him.

It startles a laugh out of him and he concedes. “My mother did dote on me. I may not have had a wonderful childhood, but there was nothing Narcissa wouldn't do for me. When Lucius insisted on rejoining the Dark Lord, she stayed by his side to ensure my safety. Sure that failed, but my mother tried to guide me through it all and make me the man I could have been. I can be that man, Granger,” he says with deep sincerity. “This whole mission is about becoming the people we could have been, had we had better choices or made better decisions. That's why I need this to succeed. And I need you to help me do that. I'll ask you one last time, Hermione- will you join me? Will you help me defeat the Dark Lord and put an end to the bloodshed and terror? Will you help me atone?”

She holds his heavy gaze even as her heart wrenches away from her ribs to pound loudly in her ears. She heaves a deep breath that scratches her dry throat and tries her best to answer him directly.

“I'm afraid I'll have to say yes,” she says timidly. “Considering I happen to like you. A lot really.”

His eyes light up and that familiar smirk spreads across his features like a smile would to any other normal person.

“I knew you were obsessed with me,” he laughs, stepping closer to wedge himself between her knees. 

Hermione throws and arm out for balance and places another at his chest to keep him from moving forward.

“Malfoy, you're bloody hot and I've wanted to kiss you for ages now but not even Merlin could make me do  _ anything _ with you in your family graveyard,” she hastily explains, unnerved by the unconcerned excitement in his unfaltering gaze.

“Are you, or are you not a witch, Granger?” he snarks, rolling his eyes as he steps closer, drawing her legs around his waist as he yanks her off the top of the altar. 

* * *

 

 

He Apparates them into a field that she recognises but doesn't really care about because he's got his hands in her hair and his lips slotted against hers. Her feet hit the floor heavily and they topple over, Malfoy twisting at the last moment to catch their fall. She lands on his chest and her teeth clack together uncomfortably, but Malfoy is so ridiculously overjoyed that his hands don't even falter for a second as one cards through her hair and the other tightens around her waist. He stares up at her as if she's salvation granted to him by the heavens above, and the affection in his gaze renders her breathless. 

It's a little dreamy, a little heavy and very much genuine. 

It sends shivers down her spine.

“You fucking saved me, Granger,” he whispers reverently, and she can't hold herself back any longer. 

Gods, this man was  _ such _ a prat and he could be so annoying and frustrating, but damn her if she didn't want to lie on top of him all day, just getting the daylights kissed out of her. 

So Hermione lets her hands explore the hard ridges of his chest as the spring sun warms the dew laden grass beneath them, and when his hands slip under her shirt she decides that she doesn't really have to go back at all ever. 


	14. The Dark Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all spoiled me with your lovely comments. But I do feel like I've lost the lightness of the story that was there before all this... plot.  
> Hmm  
> Must regain some comedic traction haha.

“I told Malfoy I'd join him,” she says, a little breathless at having run up to the loft without a break to breathe.

Ron cheers quietly and Ginny shakes her head.

“I still don't think this is a good idea,” Gin mumbles, but Harry is slowly slipping under the sheer force of power that is Ron's enthusiasm for the plan.

“What did Malfoy say?” he asks, intrigued.

“He wants me to help him end the war,” Hermione says plainly. “And I guess I'm going to now.”

“I thought the point of you doing this was to get us _ahead_ of him,” Ginny frowns. “Not for you to just work with him.”

“That's up to you Gin,” Hermione replies, a little strained. “I can get you the information but it all depends on how fast the Order acts on it.”

“It's not like you'll be there constantly, right?” Harry blurts, looking alarmed.

Hermione hasn't thought of that at all. “I don't know, Harry. We'll have to see.”

“And what do we do in the meanwhile?” Ginny grumbles. “Wait for you to save the world?”

Hermione resists the urge to scowl and say yes. “No. You can start working on what Malfoy told me today. He said that when Voldemort decided to imbue parts of his essence and magic into his most loyal servants, he also had to go through a vicious ritual. Malfoy said that it took several sacrifices and a lot of dark power, and it would take twice as much to bring him back from one of the vassals. And it would put both Voldemort and his followers in a very vulnerable position. It's a good opportunity to make a hit. If we can figure out where it will happen.”

“I thought we decided you’d ask about how to defeat the vassals themselves?” Harry asks. “Not about the process to the madness.”

Hermione gnaws on the inside of her mouth as she tries to phrase her answer carefully. “I think he’s aware that an attempt at a resurrection is in the works- but he’s too preoccupied with identifying all the vassals.”

“So he’s leaving the resurrection for _us_ to stop?” Harry says, looking mildly excited at the prospect.

Hermione let’s him think that. It’s partly true, she supposes.

“Anything specific about the ritual, though?” Ron asks suddenly, looking paler than usual. “Unless you don't want to go into details which is fine by me.”

“Nothing greatly specific except that a lot of dragonglass was needed,” Hermione ponders.

“Dragonglass?” Ginny ponders. “What's that?”

Hermione shrugs. “Some type of dark rock that's magically potent. It's difficult to find and only comes from Russia.”

“This is why we need friends from Durmstrang,” Ron snaps his fingers. “Too bad they were all pricks the last time we saw them. ‘Mione, you don't happen to keep in touch with Krum by any chance, do you?”

She rolls her eyes in return. “Of course, Ron! I wrote him hundreds of letters in between fighting for my life and worrying about you guys.”

“Brilliant!” he chimes in, missing her sarcasm by miles. “Just write him back and say something about how you really need his help and that you'll give him a kiss if you survive-,”

“Stop asking Hermione to cheat so much,” Ginny interrupts seriously. “Ron, what's wrong with you? You keep telling ‘Mione to do awful things. She's lying to the Order, to Malfoy and now to Krum?”

Harry quickly intervenes. “He doesn't mean it that way, Gin.”

“I was joking anyway,” Hermione says carefully. “I haven't spoken to Krum in years.”

Ginny is still narrowing her eyes at Ron who doesn't bother to respond in kind. Instead he just shrugs lightly.

“Come on, Gin. You know this is a war- it can't be won by friendship,” the redhead says sincerely. “It's not like I'm cheating on the Tri-Wizard Tournament or something, where they have rules and such. It's a warzone out here and I'm just trying to think ahead to keep my friends and family safe. How do you think Malfoy got this far?”

Ginny looks furious. “Malfoy’s parents are dead and he has _no one_ \- they made a terrible decision and now they're paying for it. Just because he embraced moral ambiguity it doesn’t mean that we should! No one even remotely _likes_ him anyway... I don't know why we are so bothered by his plans-,”

Hermione startles at Ginny's words. “Someone does like him- _loves_ him in fact. And I bet that that someone can help us on this lead.” 

* * *

 

 

While they wait, Ron becomes closer to Hermione in a way she'd never have expected.

He starts to _help._  

He turns up at breakfast to assist her with her frantic morning musings. He even blows off Sadie to come talk to her when she's just sitting in her room and overthinking.

Today he pushes open the door with his foot, his arms laden with heavy books.

“Found these with Flitwick,” he says cheerily, hoisting the tomes a little higher as if she hadn't noticed them already. “Little guy couldn't see me nick them. And they're super Dark. I can feel my skin itch where it touches the damn things.”

He lets them thump onto her dresser and flops heavily onto the foot of her bed, lying so that his entire form takes up the width of the small cot, forcing his legs to trail onto the floor.

“Ready to start reading?” he asks, tilting his head to catch her eye.

Hermione is beyond shocked. “You… _want_ to read? With me? You want to read boring books with me?”

He shrugs casually, pushing up on an elbow to gaze without interest at the books. “I mean… someone has to research, eh? Might as well be the two of us. Gin is feeding the baby-,”

“You're _volunteering_ ?” she presses. “To research. Merlin help us all, you've been _poisoned_!”

“Really, Hermione?” he shakes his head.

“Charmed then!” she exclaims. “This is so bizarre, it's like I've walked into the twilight zone.”

“I don't know what that is, but don't you think you're overreacting?”

“Where's Sadie? Shouldn't you two be off snogging in a closet somewhere?”

Ron rolls his eyes at this and sits up fully. “Come on. I know you're probably stressed out of your mind about helping Malfoy. Let me help you help us. You're taking a big one for the team and for the Wizarding population as a whole- as brilliant as Malfoy is at not dying, I can't imagine that he's stellar company.”

She sits there in silence for some time, stunned. “Really?”

Ron looks offended this time. “I know I've probably been an arse about your research and stuff back then, and that I'm not the most sensitive to girls’ emotions and whatnot- but even I can see that you've got your hands full with stuff and there has to be something I can do to help. And if that is to get you through this old heap of crap,” he says seriously, indicating the pile of books for clarification. “Then so be it.”

“You're amazing, Ron,” she says genuinely, offering him a small smile.

He waves it off with an awkward grin. “Don't get sappy on me or Sadie might bite my balls off.”

She laughs at that and pulls a book into her lap, feeling a little incentivised to research after Ron's eagerness to help.

It's true that neither of the boys were never inclined to help her gather information or make plans, but his show of sensitivity to her struggles is something new.

And unexpected.

And probably something Sadie rubbed off on him during their time together. She spares the redhead a glance and takes in his freckled cheeks and the pale ginger hairs of his brows and eyelashes. His eyes narrow at the book in his hands, and they shift slight as he reads the words on the yellowing pages. He looks so little like the round faced boy she'd forcibly befriended, and she silently thanks Sadie for adding this new layer to her otherwise somewhat stubbornly insensitive friend.

Or… or maybe it isn't Sadie. Maybe Ron genuinely grew up.

This unsettles her. She knows so little of her friends now, she can barely predict their actions or opinions on anything. The war has changed them all in obvious ways, with scars both physical and mental. But it's the most subtle changes that scare her. They're all strangers now; her friends, her family… her enemies. They're all different and confused; trying to learn to live with these new fears and new feelings.

Ugh.

Introspection.

Hermione turns back to her book. She'll probably be able to get a few chapters of solid reading before she starts stressing about Malfoy and helping him with his plans again.

“Oi, where'd you reckon Nott disappeared to?” Ron asks suddenly, looking around her dorm for answers.

She shrugs a little stiffly and keeps reading while Ron tells her how Theodore has his favourite sweater hoarded away somewhere and he's convinced he'll never get it back. 

* * *

 

 

“Dragonglass?” Snape repeats, arching a brow artfully.

“Yes,” Harry says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you know what it is?”

Snape scoffs lightly and turns back to his work, hands deftly slicing mandrake roots into paper thin slices. They’re all crowded into a corner of Snape’s designated potions room. His cauldron bubbles with a thick sludge and Harry looks like he’s about to pass out from the smell.

“Of course I know what it is, Potter,” he drones on, uninterested. “I'd be no use as a master potioneer to anyone if I didn't know what it was.”

Harry scowls and looks to Hermione to take the reins to the conversation. The witch sighs in return.

“And what might dragonglass be used for?” she asks as politely as she can manage what with the death glare Snape occasionally throws her way.

“It fulfils a variety of needs, miss Granger,” he replies rather snottily. “You'll have to be more specific.”

“In terms of Dark Magic rituals,” she says through gritted teeth. “Potentially necromancy.”

Snape arches a brow at that. “Necromancy? Now that's a little _too_ Dark for your tastes isn't it, miss Granger? No matter. If such is the path you’ve chosen, then heed the usual warnings; the dead can't replace the living.”

Hermione frowns. “I'm… I'm not _resurrecting_ anyone-,”

“I don't happen to care,” Snape waves her off, swirling his wand through the potion he's brewing. “Dragonglass acts like a prism for magic. In the same way a prism would break light as it refracts, dragonglass allows magic to travel through it and amplify itself. For necromancy, dragonglass is rumoured to be potent in amplifying the energies necessary to draw the dead back to their magic. It's only a theory however, and no one has ever actually managed to accomplish much with it.”

Hermione's eye twitches as writes everything down in the book she'd reserved for potions notes. She doesn't notice Snape giving her cursory once over, and the return to shooting Harry glares of disgust. The wizard squints back at him in return.

“Does it amplify the magic that the dead receives? Or does it just amplify the essence of the magic to draw the dead to it?” she asks, frowning.

Snape doesn't answer her immediately. He drops a silver ball into the potion he's making, stirs it once more with a long feather, and then dries it carefully on a cloth.

Harry shifts in his seat noisily, distracting the potioneer.

“Why are you still here?” Snape bites out, directing a hard glare at them both.

“I asked a question,” Hermione presses, waiting out his dramatic rudeness.

The potions master scowls and turns the fire down under his cauldron. “The latter. Dragonglass only amplifies the essence. If you were to attract the dead back to the realm of the living with magic as strong as that of mister Longbottom, the use of a dragonglass would only scatter the magic into a larger area rather than make it more powerful. The scattered magic will bring the dead back, but once it is imbued with that power he would only be as powerful as mister Longbottom, which is to say not very much.”

Hermione gives Harry a _look_ that tells him not to get insulted on behalf of Neville and the wizard scowls deeper in return. At least now they don't have to worry about Voldemort being more powerful when he returns.

They just have to contend with the fact that he probably _will_ return.

She turns to Snape and thanks him for his help, and they both rise to leave, happy to soon be free of the foul stares and the even more foul stench of the room.

“Miss Granger,” Snape calls as they reach the door. “A word.”

She raises a brow and indicates for Harry to go ahead without her.

“Tell Ron and Ginny,” she says. “I'll be right there.”

“What is it?” she asks neutrally, heading back to his working bench. “Is it Kingsley? Is he mad about something else again?”

“I am not his messenger,” Snape grumbles.

“Then what's wrong?” she frowns, eyeing the cooling potion with a wary eye. “I'm not testing that, if that's what you want. The twins will probably be up for that if you can bring yourself to ask a Weasley for help.”

Snape shudders visibly and shakes his head. “There's no need for testing,” he says snidely as he bottles a portion of the still bubbling liquid. He then casts an ever-cooling charm over the decanter and when it's fully frozen, he hands it over to her.

“Wait what?” she panics, eyes wide even as her palms close around it. “I can't take this! What is it?”

“My line of work is growing more and more strained, and there are places I cannot go to despite them needing my help,” he explains cryptically.

“And _I_ can go there?” she deadpans, looking for signs of jest in his face.

Snape looks dead serious. “Apparently so,” he says flatly, raising a brow.

She flushes immediately when she understands his meaning,and averts her eyes to scrutinise the potion in her hands. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Snape mutters with something that sounds just a tad bit like laughter in his voice. “That's an appropriate response.”

Hermione desperately hopes that the poor man didn't try venturing into her mind because the second she'd realized what he was talking about, all she could think of was the image she'd conjured of Snape riding a pet rat traitor into battle- and that would have awkward for the both of them.

And not to mention the heap of memories that were just her making out with his godson with his shirt off and-

Erk. She has to stop.

“I don't know how this started,” he admits when she tunes back into the conversation. “But it's an alliance I don't quite encourage.”

She takes offense at the look he directs her way. “Why, because I'll ruin his well made plans?” she snaps. “Or is it because I'm a muggleborn?”

“Save your righteous fury, miss Granger,” Snape drones, tidying his workspace for a new cauldron. “I only meant that it was an unsafe environment considering the recklessness of all parties involved there. And the fact that they have nothing to lose.”

He presses forward with a heavier look of... was that _concern_?

“You are not them,” he says with finality. “You must remember that. Draco can go the distance you wish you could go- but he got there with a price that you should be happy you do not have to pay.”

Oh, so they stopped beating around the bush and don't have to be unbearably vague anymore.

“I have killed people,” she says indignantly.

“There are worse things than murder,” Snape retorts calmly.

He conjures a jet of water to fill his cauldron, no doubt starting on more basic potions to restock Molly's infirmary.

“Be careful with the line you walk,” Snape says flatly. “They are bound by no one, and no rules.”

“I've never really followed the rules,” she counters. “As much as I thought I did, I always ended up breaking them all.”

Snape grunts at that. “Don't I know.”

Hermione grins. “Shall I say hi to him for you?”

The older wizard stills for a second and then continues with his work. “No. Just deliver the potion. That will be enough.”

Hermione lets her smile slip and stand there for a while, with the cold glass container held carefully in both palms.

“Would you have time to possibly help me learn Occlumency today?” she asks timidly, scanning the wizard’s features for signs of outright disapproval.

Snape sighs and looks up at a random wall, mouth tight.

“I suppose I have to say yes,” he begrudgingly agrees. “Can't have you working on two sides with a mind that's so loud a Squib could read it.”

Hermione gasps indignantly but is silenced by Snape’s strict dismissive wave.

“I appreciate the imagery, miss Granger,” he says. “But I would never ride a giant vermin as a battle steed for any reason.”

Hermione groans loudly, holding the potion tightly to keep from throwing it across the room. “How does that even work?! Don't you have to actually _cast_ the spell to read someone's mind? Minds can't be _loud_ for Morgana’s sake! This doesn't make any sense!”

Snape just lets her rant out her embarrassment and quietly returns to scowling at her while his Pepper-Up bubbles into a bright, blood red.

* * *

 

 

Theo returns without much fanfare. He gives Ron’s sweater back, much to the other boy’s delight, and then finds Hermione where she is locked away in a storage room.

“Granger?” he knocks on the door. “Granger are you in there?”

“Nott?” she calls back, voice weak through the thickness of the door.

“Yeah, let me in.”

The door creaks open and Nott crawls through the space, awkwardly folding his limbs so that his frame could fit past the small gap.

“What are you doing?” he gasps when he's finally contortioned himself into the small space. “It's like a coffin in here.”

“Well now that there's two of us,” she says a little defensively. “Before it was more like a… spacious grave.”

*Nott snorts. “Why are you here?”

“Where did you go?” she counters, equally blunt.

“I had a small errand to run,” he sighs.

“For Malfoy?” she asks, carefully lowering her voice.

Nott gives her a _look_.

“Right. Of course,” she nods.

“And you?” he presses. “What's with the closet? Trying out what it would have been like to be Potter as a child?”

Hermione smacks his knee for the comment. “I'm just trying to practise in peace.”

“Practise how death would feel like?,” he mutters, glancing about at the small confines of the space.

Hermione ignores him. “What do you want?”

“Really?” he laughs lightly. “Not even going to ask me how I am? Or how Malfoy is?”

She rolls her eyes at the suggestive smirk he throws her way. “No, since you’re alive and not crying about anything I’m assuming he is as well, and that’s enough for me.”

“You two are no fun,” Theo grouses. “Can’t you just accept that you’re madly in love with each other and just-,”

“Nott, no!” Hermione sputters, choking on air as she inhales violently. “We are not- we’re absolutely not. No.”

Theodore just grumbles lightly. “Mutual hatred, yeah right.”

Hermione nods rapidly, hair bouncing in a wild mess. “So what is it that you had to seek me out for?”

“Oh yes, be prepared to leave at evening,” he says, snapping his fingers.

“Ah,” she breathes.

She wonders why Malfoy couldn’t just call her the same way he did when they met at the cemetery. She supposes he hadn’t told Nott about the ring- after all it was a family heirloom and he’d unthinkingly handed it over to a muggleborn. Or maybe they’re just not meeting in the family graveyard anymore.

She pushes the thoughts back and looks at the wizard seated across from her.

"Nott," she ventures. "How did Narcissa die?" 

The Pureblood hisses air out through his teeth. "I don't know the specifics. But I hear the Dark Lord killed her himself."

"Why?" 

Theodore chews on his lip for a moment before replying. "You should ask Malfoy."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "I'd rather not go through that experience, thank you very much."

"You'll probably get better answers."

"Well, what do _you_ think happened?"

Nott hesitates. "It doesn't matter what I think. You should ask Malfoy."

Hermione takes this as a sign of failure and backs off, averting her eyes with a nod of acquiescence. 

“So,” Nott says after a heartbeat. “You’re really helping us.”

It’s more of a statement than a question so she opts to answer with an awkward smile.

“Fancy that, Granger,” Nott whistles. “Now we really are pals.”

“Keep dreaming, Nott” she laughs.

The Pureblood chuckles despite himself. “I’ll get to you sometime, Granger. You might as well give up now.”

Hermione shakes her head and rises to her feet, dusting the seat of her pants as she does so. Her body is cramped after sitting in one position for so long sorting her mind out into small, neat categories just like Snape had told her to do. It wasn’t an easy task and she’s been in here for quite some time now.

Hermione straightens her back in quiet pain once she stands in the fresher air of the building, and looks up to a face full of bewilderment. One of the twins stand in the corridor ahead, staring back at her, wide-eyed with shock.

“Hey Padma,” Hermione offers, wondering why the witch looks dumbstruck.

Nott shoves her out of the way then as he clambers out himself, grumbling loudly about _poverty stricken rebels_ and _living like a mole rat_.

Padma jerks to life and only squeaks something unintelligible and flees, her skirts twirling as she practically _flies_ down the corridor.

“What’s wrong with her?” Hermione asks no one in particular.

Nott doesn’t seem to have noticed and just continues complaining about the Order’s lack of resources and poor home planning in general, frowning back at the claustrophobic supplies closet in silent malice as they walk away.

* * *

 

 

She really wishes she could learn how Nott is able to leave the Order premises so easily, but she doesn’t get the chance. The Pureblood simply goes into a room on the third floor and comes out after three minutes with a piece of paper in his hands and a vague smile. She toys with the strap of her bottomless bag that hangs from her wrist as she tails him down the stairs. 

“Who was that?” she asks suspiciously. “What’s that for?”

But Nott doesn’t indulge her curiosity. “You know what killed the cat, Granger.”

“I also know what brought it back,” she snaps.

Nott raises his brows. “Necromancy is not to be trifled with.”

“What? No I’m not talking about raising a cat from the dead!” she protests.

Nott doesn’t seem convinced. “Sure, Granger.”

She scowls in silence and refrains from explaining herself and the possibly muggle response to the age old proverb. They walk briskly through the building and out the main doors. Nott leads her through the wards and the charms that hide Grimmauld Place from sight, and they head down the destroyed street together, neither saying a word. Hermione stares at the torn up cobblestones and tries not to think of the fight that had led to the destruction of Claremont Square, while Nott glances at his watch every now and then with interest that suggest more than a casual check on the time. They’re out on to the main street when he grabs Hermione’s wrist, much like the last time when he’d tossed a portkey at her. Except this time he just stares at the face of his elaborate watch and halts her progress down the road.

“It’s time,” he says, and the world spins around them, sucking them into whirling vortex of magic unlike anything Hermione has never experienced before.

* * *

 

 

“What?!” she shrieks, landing on her feet in the lawn before Malfoy’s hideout. “Was that?”

Nott chuckles drily, rubbing the face of his watch with a small cloth he’d produced out of nowhere.

“Summoning charm,” he offers out of pity. “One of Malfoy’s creations so take your complaints to him please.”

She scowls as she follows him into the small house.

The hallway is absolutely empty and the house stands eerily still with no one moving around inside it. Hermione wonders where the Americans have gone.

They find Malfoy standing alone by the stairs that lead down to the holding cells. He's one long line of tension from head to toe; standing stiffly with his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose. His hair sticks out in odd angles indicating he'd probably been mussing it up in frustration, and his shirt is mildly crushed... almost as if he'd slept in it.

The blond shifts to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Hermione wonders why he's so stressed. She's never seen him so frazzled and she can't help but think if this is how he usually is, and that the calm, relaxed and snarky Draco she's used to is all a front.

“Oi mate,” Theodore says. “Ready to crack open my father's mind?”

Draco looks up blearily, casually regarding them. “Ah finally.”

He waits till they reach him and nods with a formal, albeit very tired, stiffness to his posture. "Nott. Granger. Good to see you both."

Hermione rifles through her bag and produces the frozen potion that Severus had given her days earlier. Malfoy's eyes darken imperceptibly and he takes the potion from her hands carefully. 

"Did he leave a message?" he asks gruffly, turning the potion over in his hands gently.

Hermione shakes her head and watches as Malfoy's expression tightens even more.

He swiftly turns on a heel and tucks the potion away as he leads them down to the room where Rivens waits for them with Mr. Nott.

“You know what to do Hermione,” Malfoy says as he guides her into the room.

She begs to differ. “I dont think so, to be quite honest.”

But Malfoy just clicks his tongue and turns away to address Theodore in a quiet voice, leaving Hermione to awkwardly face the old man alone.

“Its ok,” Rivens, the American Legilimens from before, says to her gently. “Just try and coax your magic out of the walls that are up in his head. Try and weasel your way in while you do so.”

Hermione nods even though she doesn't understand a thing. She's all too ready to learn new information and she does not want to let anybody down at her first stint.

So she crouches before Nott Senior and closes her eyes, opening up her magic to the wasteland that is his mind space with a simple incantation.

 

**

 

Rivens was right.

Nott’s mind is _not_ a barren wasteland like she'd expected, but a fortress with towering walls and impenetrable gates. She remains stuck outside for a long long while, staring at the magical barriers that she cannot trespass through. Her own magic calls to her, yet she can’t find it. She can only stare in awe at the fortifications in slowly accumulating despair as time passes and nothing happens.

She’s about to call it off and retreat when she feels a brain cell kick into high gear.

If Rivens was right about everything, and she really _had_ willing blocked out a small resistance into his mental walls… where would she put such a thing?

Someplace small and unrecognizable, she thinks, already delving through to the place she knows her failsafe must be.

It takes a little struggling and magical _pushing_ to find the weak spot reserved specifically for her, but she finds it nonetheless.

She might not be an exalted Legilimens or a good mental magician in general, but Hermione Granger _persists_.

* * *

 

 

When she falls back into her own mind she's exhausted, but not so much that she forgets to think entirely.

She's not stupid.

She can't tell Malfoy that she can fix Nott Senior’s issue. If she so much as reduces the intensity of his mental barricades, then she sure as hell will lose her position on Malfoy’s side. He won't have any need of her, and rightfully so, for she is _rubbish_ at Legilimency.

So she keeps that nugget of information to herself, and prepares to tell Malfoy the rest of what she knows.

“That ritual is ghastly,” she gasps when she rocks back on her feet, mind in her own body now.

Malfoy darts towards her, hand outstretched to help her up to her feet. “Did everything work out right?”

“Are you feeling okay?” Rivens chimes in, equally concerned. “Feeling nauseous? Dizzy?”

Nott snickers in the background and Hermione _knows_ Malfoy must've complained about the other wizard to his friend at some point between the two sessions of her being here. She pointedly ignores the blonde's pinched glare and smiles at Rivens politely.

“I'm fine,” she says as sincerely as she can. “But I just need some fresh air. Malfoy, please tell me you have a room with a window somewhere nearby?”

He does not look ready to show her to a window let alone read between the lines. “You know the way back upstairs.”

Nott groans lightly. “Maybe you should take her there, mate. Don't want dear Granger passing out on the way up.”

“I thought you said you were okay?” Malfoy frowns at her, suspicious.

Even Rivens looks like he's about to clue in on her attempts to get Malfoy alone, but Theodore smartly steps in to distract the man with well timed concern regarding his father's state of consciousness.

“Look at my poor dad. He's not about to wake up any time soon, is he?” he says, blithely moving over to Rivens, a palm guiding the other man to face Nott Senior. “I mean… life would be easier without another madman on the loose, I'm sure you understand.”

“Another madman?”

“Indeed,” Nott intones gravely, his predilection for dramatics showing through his facade of seriousness.

“Malfoy,” Hermione hisses as the other two men discuss their prisoner. “Upstairs. Now.”

She doesn't wait to see if he follows as she storms out of the room. She takes the stairs in large leaps of two, spinning around almost as soon as she's on the landing.

“What is it about Rivens that makes you act like such an idiot?” she snaps at his face when she whirls upon him.

Malfoy stares back in mild shock from where he stands a step below her, before his mask of cool indifference takes over and he schools his expression. “I was not acting _stupid_ -,”

“You were denser than a Keeper with one too many Bludgers to the head,” she grumbles, crossing her arms.  “Did you seriously not understand that I was trying to speak with you privately?”

“Why couldn't you just _say_ so?” he scowls, pulling back slightly.

“I didn't want to be _rude_ -,”

“It's Rivens, Granger. Who gives a fuck?”

“You are such a prick sometimes!”

“And _you_ are way too hot when you're angry, but something tells me you didn't call me up here to snog… so on with it.”

She contemplates smacking him just for her sanity’s sake but she forgoes the physical abuse for a particularly nasty sneer.

It must not work on Malfoy because he only takes the final step onto the landing so he towers over her again and presses in close so that his face hovers inches away from hers- far too close for any sensible conversation.

“If you're quite done with the posturing,” he says lowly, eyes focused on her lips. “I suggest you tell me what you have to say before I assume you're really are here to be kissed thoroughly.”

“Gosh Malfoy,” she grimaces, _not at all_ affected by the look on his face. “Keep it in your pants.”

“I haven't slept in six days, Granger. Have you been tracking missing people in order to stop a creepy ritual from happening?” he growls, not budging an inch. “I don't think so. And now you're standing here, lecturing me no less, and you expect me to just not think about kissing you at all? Cut me some slack.”

“You've been following up on the ritual as well?” she frowns.

“I can't sleep knowing that I have to count on Weasley to do it for me,” Malfoy replies, shrugging.

“I thought you couldn't sleep because of the stress of the ritual?” she deadpans.

“I didn't say that,” he cuts in.

“You implied it-,”

“I couldn't sleep because of much more pleasant distractions,” he murmurs. “Namely you.”

Hermione purses her lips. “You're incorrigible.”

“I thought I'd try one last time,” he shrugs again.

She doesn't resist the urge to slap him this time, although it only does as much damage as her glare had.

“I called you away to talk about the memories I saw,” she says pointedly.

“Ah yes," he sighs heavily. "Doom and despair. Tell me about it.”

“It's ghastly, Malfoy,” she shudders. “There were so many people and Death Eaters and… sacrifices. It's truly horrific.”

“How many?”

“Sacrifices? There were only four in the memory but they later talk about having eighteen for the resurrections. Two for each vassal I suppose.”

Malfoy scowls. “Excessive. Ordinary resurrections only require a single sacrifice for each being brought back to life. A soul for a soul. In theory at least.”

“That's macabre,” she grimaces.

“It's also never worked in the past so let's bank on that statistic,” Malfoy sighs.

“Well the first ritual to split His magic into the vassals worked,” Hermione points out. “That's what I saw. Nott’s memory got hazy after the pain and the distortion was hard to read through, but it clearly worked for a few of them, especially if his followers are beginning to prepare for a resurrection. I wonder who the chosen vassal would be.”

Malfoy stays silent while she ponders it over.

“Is that all you heard about it?” he asks after a while. “Just the eighteen sacrifices?”

“No, I heard a whole bunch of spells that might come in handy to know. If you have a some paper I can write it all down,” she offers.

“I suppose,” Malfoy hums. “But it can't be that important.”

He still leads her into a study and points towards one of the tables; a sturdy oak affair laden with parchment and complete with a set of ink. A witch pours over a large tome at one of the other tables and Malfoy waves at her quickly, even though she isn't looking.

“Granger, you know who this is,” he says loudly, gesturing at the other witch.

Hermione stills as the witch looks up sharply, and she violently remembers something that had been regaled to the back of her mind.

“Pansy Parkinson,” she grits out, stiffly holding out a hand to be shook.

 _You're supposed to be dead_ , she thinks quietly, taking in the other girl's pudgy features and harsh black hair. It's much longer but still dead straight and _evil_ looking.

The other witch only stares at her in something akin to outrage. An excruciating minute ticks by and Hermione slowly withdraws her ignored hand, shooting Malfoy a _look_ before stomping away to her indicated table in anger and embarassment.

This place was awful.

It was full of people who confused her, who didn't trust her, and worst of all, people she thought were well and truly _dead_.

This was going to be the most difficult thing she's done in quite some time. And that includes taking down Fenrir Greyback on her own.

Somehow, a house full of snarky Purebloods and foreigners were far more intimidating than a rabid werewolf that wanted nothing more than to eat her face off- and that said more about her priorities than Hermione cared to acknowledge.


	15. Blood in the Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um I'm back? There were some rlly sweet comments I couldn't leave hanging <3  
> But I have so much work to do for college ahahah even god can't help me 
> 
> Nevertheless... enjoy! Today we have Hermione being a pain and Draco just trying to keep everyone alive dammit

Hermione supposes she should've seen this coming.

As she stands there, halfway behind Lupin with her wand in hand as they try their best to restructure the splintering wards, she thinks vehemently that she should have known this would happen.

The Death Eaters are at their door. Literally.

A scourge of dark wizards and witches crowd around Grimmauld Place despite it being invisible to them still, and bombard the wards with their accursed magic.

“Why do we bother?” Hermione asks over the sounds of wand-fire and explosions. “They can't get through the Fidelius can they?” 

Lupin’s mouth tightens. “No Hermione, they cannot. Or rather we hope they cannot.”

“It's how the charm _works_!” she says hotly. “Right?”

Lupin looks like he's about to shrug but changes his mind at the last second. “It doesn't matter, Hermione. If they are here for something important, they will surround us until something caves and gives in.”

She considers telling him that she's fairly sure why they're here- that they need one of their prisoners for a creepy dark ritual. But then she'll have to explain to the higher authorities about how she'd come by her information and that would either include throwing Malfoy under the bus or admitting that she attacked the elder Nott in an unauthorised mission. And because she dearly wants to avoid the righteous fury of Kingsley Shacklebolt for the rest of her life, she keeps her mouth _shut_. 

Hermione scowls.

It's rather difficult to pretend like she doesn't know what's going on, so she decides to at least hint at the severity of the situation to someone she hopes will be able to help. “Are they after Greyback?”

She watches as Lupin’s face goes through _fifteen_ different emotions before settling on a look of tight concentration. His eyes are shuttered but she feels his magic leap through the ward they're fixing together. She wonders if he had expected her to not bring it up. She can't imagine why. 

“I think I can handle this myself,” he says suddenly in a stern tone. “You should find Mad Eye and see if we're going to take the fight to them.”

“Do you think that's what we should do?” she queries, unsure of the command.

The professor smiles wryly. “As opposed to what? Sitting here till they tire of the attack?”

Hermione shrugs. “Isn't that better? It's not like they can do any real damage to us.”

“I don't think we should encourage them to be so close to our main base of operations,” Lupin says with some finality. “Find Moody and tell him I think we should push the offence. If at all it might help to find out why they're here.”

But Hermione  _ knows _ that they're here for Greyback and why they want him, and since she can't really tell anyone, she turns on her heel and goes off in search of Mad Eye.

* * *

 

Harry scowls at her from where he stands on the dusty road, eyes blinking against the harsh summer sun that beats down on them relentlessly. He doesn't look at the witch that's attacking the wards as he blows her away with a resounding Reducto.

Hermione rolls her eyes.

“I  _ told  _ you it was Lupin’s idea to come out here, not mine,” she says for the tenth time. 

Harry only scoffs, erecting a fresh shield. “You totally wanted to get in on this bloodbath. I can see it in your face.”

“What you're seeing is a severe sunburn in the making,” she grits out, waving her wand as she conjures yet another giant boulder to throw at the oncoming horde of Death Eaters that throng around the invisible barrier. 

“This just confirms their suspicions of us being here,” Harry grouses. “Snape had them think this was empty for so long.”

“Yeah well something tipped them off about us anyway, otherwise they wouldn't be here attacking a presumably empty building,” Hermione replies, slashing a wand at a wizard that ventured too close to the wards for comfort. 

Harry ponders this silently.

Moody had tossed them all out onto the front yard, just before where the wards ended, in an attempt to push the Death Eaters away at least by an inch. He was almost foaming with anger as he tried to reason around the attack. If they lost ground they would all have to leave- every single one of them including their children and the sick and wounded. Even if the wards are never breached, the Death Eaters now know that they're all here, and that was a dangerous piece of knowledge to have. The twins were preparing for the off chance that the Order would have to relocate, and the others from Hogwarts were all out in the sun, pushing the attackers back. 

Neville, Luna, Parvati and Padma were stationed by the doorway, casting spells that hit large areas of the mob ahead of them. Hermione and Harry took point with Ron and Sadie as they picked off the few daring individuals that ventured up close. 

“They're here for Greyback aren't they?” Ron pants heavily, wiping sweat from his brow as he snaps his wand through the air.

Hermione hisses. “We're doomed.”

“They won't get through the Fidelius,” Ron says, unsure of her pessimism.

“Hermione means that they'd have to have inside information for them to know where we kept Greyback,” Harry explains. “She's worried we have a mole.”

“And a nasty one too,” she grumbles. “If he, or she, is a Secret Keeper we'll lose everything.”

Ron goes deathly pale for a moment and Hermione eyes him carefully. 

“What if it's Nott?” Ron says, far too quickly. “He isn't here… where is he?”

Harry looks startled. “Come on, mate. It can't be Nott.”

“He isn't a Secret Keeper anyway,” Hermione reasons out harshly. 

“What if they kill a Secret Keeper?” Ron mutters. “What if they-,”

“Ron, calm down,” Harry says diplomatically. “None of us will give away the secret under torture or the threat of death. That's why we're Secret Keepers. Don't worry, they won't come in.” 

Ron doesn't look sure, but he tucks his head down and keeps firing off into the crowd of crazed witches and wizards anyway.

* * *

It's late evening when Fred and George come tumbling through the doorway to yell at them in voices that are far too frantic to bear any good news. 

“Not to burst your bubble-,” one exclaims

“But we have a bubble that needs to be burst  _ immediately _ !” the other finishes.

“They have an Anti-Apparition ward up over us!” the redhead Hermione assumes is George explains, eyes blown wide.

It takes a full minute for the information to sink in, and Hermione whirls around to survey the seemingly endless army before them with a new light.

“No one can leave, we can't evacuate anything to one of the safe houses,” Fred continues for his brother. “Not even the kids!”

The Order is trapped. 

They've holed themselves up in a prison of their own making. Not only had they allowed themselves to be surrounded, they'd also been too satisfied with their own wards to think about the ones their enemy could erect. 

Now they're stuck with no portkeys, no functioning floos and no other way out but the front door.

She heaves in a breath that doesn't quite make it to her lungs. 

“You have to go out there and disable it,” George pants, looking at Harry intensely. 

Ron shoulders his way to the front. “I can go!”

“Hold on. Why do we have to go  _ outside _ ? Isn't there a way we can do it from in here?” Sadie asks before Ron can make more of a martyr of himself. 

“Yeah you can't expect us to go out there!” Parma nearly shrieks, throwing an arm out towards their attackers. 

“Don't shoot the messenger,”  Fred says, lifting both palms up. “This order comes directly from monsieur Moody himself.”

George sighs and shakes his head. “Lupin has been trying to disable it all this time, but he says you've got to be as close as you can to a ward to do it successfully. I don't know the real  _ magic _ behind it-,”

“He's right,” Hermione sighs. “You have to be as close as possible. Ward magic is insanely complex so you can't tamper with it from afar without making it worse for you.”

Fred nods hastily, happy they don't have to continue to convince them of the urgency of the matter. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Stay safe you lot.”

“See you later,” George smiles wryly. “For dinner in our new home, hopefully.”

Hermione wants to laugh at their well meaning sentiment as she looks out at the throng of angry madmen that waits for them outside the Fidelius. There is no amount of well wishes that will keep them from harm in  _ that _ mess. 

“I take it you three will go out there?” Neville says seriously, turning to face them once the twins disappear back inside. 

Parma crosses her arms. “As usual.”

“I'd appreciate it if you could give us some cover,” Harry says seriously, trying not to engage with Padma’s look of outrage.

“We should all go,” the witch snaps. “I'm not bad at wards.”

"How fast can you dismantle an anti-Apparition?" Harry asks seriously. 

"I can do it in ten minutes," the girl answers.

“I'm sorry, but Hermione can do it in five,” Ron shrugs. “I can keep her safe- I've helped Harry for years now. If anyone should stay behind its Harry. This isn't an important run.”

“Hey, no way,” Harry protests. “I'm coming with you two.”

Sadie rolls her eyes. “Let them handle this,” she sighs. “Neville and Luna, come with me. We'll give them some cover, and you twins can sit back here and keep them away from our wards.”

The Patils look like they have more to say, but Sadie gives Ron a quick kiss before shoving him towards the edge of the wards and the Fidelius. Hermione follows quickly after patting Neville on the back, and the trio duck out into the fray, Protego charms at the ready and Reductos flying. 

Luna cleaves a path for them by hurling a potent  _ Bombarda _ through the mob and the boys immediately flank Hermione's side once they're out in the open. 

“Ready to dismantle a ward?” Ron huffs as he blocks several attacks from the regrouping wizards.

“Are you kidding me?” Hermione manages to say as she avoids a close ranged curse aimed for her head. “I dismantle enemy wards for breakfast.”

“Not out in a deathmatch like this one,” Ron counters, nearly tripping on his feet. 

Harry grunts and bodily shoves a witch away from him, before steadying Ron with a quick grab at the other boy’s collar. “Less talk, more running.”

And it's a tight squeeze, but they manage.

* * *

 

Hermione feels the magic of the enemy wards after ten minutes of struggling through the rampant crowd. Neville’s constant shielding keeps them safe in a two foot perimeter that is only enough for them to awkwardly shuffle, but it's a safety they're grateful to have. 

Harry fires Stuns at every face that passes him, and Ron kicks at the grasping limbs that pass through their Protego. 

Hermione has her hands full with the ward.

It's a basic level ward, but the environment is nowhere near conducive to dismantling one. Explosions rock the ground every now and then, and either Ron or Harry bump into her as they try and keep the three of them alive. 

“I can't tamper with anything when you knock into me, Ron!” she snaps, tiredly, sweat trickling into her eyes. 

Harry apologises as he steps on her foot, but a sudden spell blasts through their shield and nearly rips her ear off- so they all duck and run without complaint. 

“Don't scatter!” Hermione manages to say, before a hand grasps her full on the face and nearly shoves her into the ground. She hits Ron and they both take a tumble, just as a spell hits the ground she'd been running towards. The cobblestone explodes into tiny shards of debris and showers down upon them, but a fresh shield blossoms overhead and a very angry familiar face  _ glares _ at her as the magic sets in around them.

“Did you just push me?” she nearly shrieks, nose aching and pride bruised. 

Malfoy looks furious. His ridiculous cloak flutters around him like as if its been charmed to constantly add dramatic effect, and his hair is a messy fringe over his eyes. She rather thinks she could snog him senseless if they weren't stuck in the middle of a bloodthirsty mob. Also if he hadn't rescued her by shoving her into the mud.

“Why the everloving  _ fuck _ are you out in this mess, Granger?” 

He whirls at the sound of the raging crowd and tears his wand through the air in a wide arc, cleaving through the witches and wizards with a vicious  _ Incendio _ .

Ron is up on his feet, positively gawking, but Malfoy only turns away to block a curse from hitting Harry who's still running away. 

“You have to be the most  _ suicidal person _ I know,” he complains to Hermione once he's dragged Harry back towards them with a levitation charm. “What could have possibly possessed you into coming out here?”

“What possessed you?!” Hermione snaps back. “You're  _ literally _ at the Order's doorstep- they could kill you on sight!”

“Bloody hell, it's really Malfoy isn't it,” Ron breathes, wand raised as if he's unsure what to do with the knowledge. 

Around them, the angry mob rages on.

“Fuck,” Harry manages to say once he lands on his feet, and Malfoy continues looking unimpressed.

“This is the second time I've had to save you, Potter,” the blond says in annoyance. “Step up your game.”

Harry scowls lightly. “This is a bad day. I didn't even get to eat breakfast.”

“So you say,” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Granger, you have to get Greyback out of here.”

Hermione flushes furiously as Ron explodes at Malfoy’s order.

“He knows we have Greyback?” the redhead glares.

“You know we have Greyback?” she feigns, hoping that Malfoy will fucking  _ understand.  _

He frowns but doesn't say anything too controversial on the topic. “Er… yes. Obviously all these people do too. Just… just focus on the fact that they're here for your prisoner, and nothing will stop them, not even your Fidelius.”

“We have bigger problems, Malfoy,” Hermione snaps. “Like this  _ mob _  is trying to _kill_ _ us _ as well, and this Anti-Apparition ward that you somehow got through!”

Harry scowls. “He probably used Dark Magic or something.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes again and scoffs. “I did no such thing.”

“The how did you get-,” Harry begins.

“I just walked here. Well, I ran… but it's almost the same thing-,” Malfoy trails off as he catches Hermione’s expression.

She levels him with a sharp stare and he finally caves in.

“Fine, we'll break this ward then, but someone needs to secure Greyback because these people  _ cannot  _ get him.”

He casts a Protego Maxima, or rather his personal version of the spell which renders it solid, but not before pushing Harry and Ron out of its way and into the crowd again.

Dark spells whizz past them and when Hermione looks around, she's the only one in the shields embrace. 

“Potter and Weasley, you two are going to go inform your superiors about Greyback,” Malfoy calls from the outside. “Convince them however you have to- but he needs to be transferred. I will keep Granger alive. Now  _ go _ .”

The boys shoot her a look of pure alarm and helplessness before they dart through the enemy, cutting their way much more easily and fluidly, like an actual functioning team.

She loathes how well they work together.

Malfoy shouts unintelligibly over the wandfire and it makes her focus back on the task at hand. It takes a blessed five minutes to disable the apparition ward and she immediately sends a patronus to inform the Order to leave _with_ _haste_ if they expect to leave at all. As her otter disappears into the fray, she looks to find Malfoy to be released from the Protego. He catches her eye, removes the shield, and she effortlessly ducks under his arm to blast Reducto after Reducto at the enemy surrounding them. 

“You're insane,” Malfoy mutters darkly as she tails him through the crowd, casting offensives as he defends. 

She really wants to reply, but her mind is rather preoccupied. 

Curses whistle around them and die overhead at Malfoy’s behest, sputtering out like weak flames. Hermione tries her best not to get distracted as she pushes the attack, Stunning everyone around them and clearing a path back towards the building. 

“Are you staying with us?” she asks, teeth gritted as another explosion distorts the air around her.

Malfoy grips her arm almost painfully and swings them both out of the way of debri that collapses from the long abandoned houses around them. 

“Clearly you're in need of some guidance right now,” he snaps, angry at everything. 

She barely avoids a nasty Cruciatus and hexes her attacker with equal fervour before responding. 

“Oh how the tables have turned,” she quotes. “The protector becomes the protected.”

“Your battle angel status may have to be revoked,” Malfoy agrees, but this time there's a slight upward tilt at the corners of his mouth that hints at a ghost of a smile and when Hermione turns back to curse the crowd, she feels her blood rush faster and the thrill of the fight seep into her bones.

It's only when she Apparates with Malfoy into the confines of Grimmauld Place that she realises that they worked almost as effortlessly as Harry and Ron did.

They were almost a team.

She also realises that she’d just brought a known enemy and ex- Death Eater into their headquarters during a particularly nasty Death Eater raid-

Fuck.

* * *

 

 

“They're all gone, don't worry,” Harry says quickly, bursting through the doors as soon as Hermione Apparates in with the blond in Side Along. 

Malfoy gently extricates himself from her grasp and steps aside, hoping to remain unnoticed.

“It's fine,” Harry says through narrowed eyes. “Moody didn't want to hear about securing Greyback anyway. He and Kingsley have left with the information and research. Molly and Pomfrey have the kids and the wounded and the medicine, and I sent the rest of our friends with them to help secure a perimeter or some shite. Made it up on the spot.”

“It was the worst lie I've ever heard,” Ron adds, peering over Harry’s shoulder. 

A cracking sound splinters the silence behind the Order's wards and Hermione winces. 

“That will be the first one,” she mutters. “There's three more layers of protective wards until they break all those. I'm not entirely sure if the Fidelius will stand on its own. It means they can't see us or come in here but does that extend to magic if the house is without protection wards? I'd rather not find out first hand.”

The boys share a look and then frown at Malfoy.

“Let's take this inside, come on,” Harry says after much deliberation. 

The three trudge in and Ron hangs back to scowl at the blond. “You can come too, ferret.”

“By all means invite me in,” Malfoy says with a quick roll of his eyes. “It  _ would _ be the decent thing to do.”

“Quite frankly, one Slytherin is enough for us,” Ron retorts mildly, stowing away his wand and following Harry through the house. 

Hermione waits tensely to hear Malfoy’s snapping reply but it never comes. She turns to catch him eyeing the furniture around them with a distasteful glare.

“This place is dreadful Potter, whatever possessed you to make it look like a sixteenth century insane asylum?” he says, barely repressing a shudder.

“Ask your mom, Malfoy,” Harry scoffs. 

“What's she got to do with it?” Malfoy scowls back in kind.

“Considering this is her cousin’s I have a grand feeling she has a lot to do with it. At least she'll know where all the dreary drapes come from,” Harry responds with only a little bitterness.

Hermione hasn't heard him speak about Sirius even vaguely without some sharpness to his words so she counts this as a normality. 

Malfoy grunts and crosses his arms. 

He remains silent for the most part as they take the winding stairs down to the basement levels of the house. Hermione hears him shuffle as he casts what she thinks are protective charms on the ends of his cloak as soon as he notices the dust on every surface surrounding them.

He spots the Silenced portrait of his Aunt stowed in a dark corner and finally seems to lose it.

“Really? What was he thinking with the interior decor here?” Malfoy whines, his lips pulled back in a sneer.

Harry sighs longsufferingly and levels the blond with a harsh glare. “Again- ask your mom, Malfoy. Sirius is dead.”

“His mom’s dead too,” Hermione says awkwardly. “So I guess we'll never know. Heh.”

Walburga’s portrait strains against the charm upon her, but apart from that, a tense silence reigns. Everyone stands there for sometime in the weirdness of the moment until Ron breaks it by shaking his head.

“I still don't really know why or how you're here,” the redhead mumbles. “Or if we can even trust you! And where's Nott? Doesn't anyone find it suspicious that he's gone?” 

Hermione glances at Draco stiffly and he purposely avoids her eye. 

“Maybe he left with the others,” she suggests, even though his absence has begun to bother her. 

“It doesn't sit well with me either,” Harry says with a sigh. “But let's focus on Greyback first, shall we?” 

Hermione tries to detail a basic plan on the way but everybody seems to be caught in their own thoughts. She gives up and they quietly rush the rest of the way down to the cavernous underground where Kingsley restrained their most valuable captives in hope of future incarceration. They had been given decent quarters and full-time protection, but right now the area is in shambles. They have to carefully step over the broken rock floor as they make their way to the cells, worry and panic rising as they survey the destroyed room. 

Smoke sits heavily in the air around them, residue of some spells no doubt. The tangy, metallic smell of blood fills the unventilated air stagnantly. 

Hermione twitches her wand hand as she prepares herself for the worst and she hears Malfoy do the same. 

He draws his wand from the confines of his stupid, black cloak when Ron suddenly shouts and rushes on ahead.

“It's Lupin! You guys, over here!” the redhead’s voice echoes around the cavern and Hermione's chest plummets to her boots.

They scramble over the debris and she is mildly thrown off by how fast Malfoy moves to keep up with them. He almost makes it to where their old professor lies in the rubble before Harry does, but he steps away for the darker haired wizard to kneel beside the body first.

“No! Remus, please!” Harry cries, grabbing Lupin’s hand tight to his own chest.

Hermione huffs as she catches up and immediately begins casting the relevant diagnostic spells.

“There's a heartbeat and a weak pulse,” Draco interrupts her lowly, seemingly having just finished an ordinary check up. “He’s bleeding like crazy though you'll have to fix that.”

She watches as the green of his diagnostic spells fade out over Lupin and she can't help but peer at the blond beside her in dumb surprise. Hermione catches his grey eyes for a split second, quietly stunned by the sharp concern veiled behind his gaze. 

“Hurry Granger,” he urges with a scowl as the other two wizards kneel beside their teacher.

She jerks to attention and begins casting. 

Lupin’s body is halfway out of a cell and halfway in it. His limbs lay around him unnaturally bent, and twisted in awkward angles like as if they'd been broken. A large gash across his midsection seeps blood onto the stone floor beneath him, and the puddle steadily becomes larger. 

“What happened to him?” Ron breathes.

“I don't know,” she replies heavily under the strain of her spellcasting. 

“He's so… so broken,” Harry manages to say, lurching to his feet and surveying the empty room with angry eyes as if he could will Lupin’s assailant to appear just by raging about it.

“It's not the thing that's hurting him,” Draco points out. “He's just lost a lot of blood.”

Hermione bites her lip. “He's right. His bones are not broken at all… they're just  _ stuck _ .”

“Is that your medical opinion?” Ron asks in horror, looking rather sceptical. 

“Yes,” she snaps hotly. “They're honestly just stuck in weird angles almost as if… almost- Harry!” 

Draco moves swiftly out of the way as she leaps to her feet suddenly, hair bouncing animatedly with the movement. Even Ron leans away to accommodate her flailing limbs.

“Harry who's cell was that?” she asks quickly. “Could it have been Greyback’s?” 

Harry looks grim. “Well he's not here anymore… and Kingsley very explicitly said that he did not want to spare the men to transport such a  _ vile creature _ . So yes… Greyback could have broken out of his cell.”

“Do you think he fought Lupin?” Ron says angrily, peering at their teacher’s limp body. 

Hermione returns to stemming the blood flow with a fresh wave of furious determination. “I think so. It fits with the wounds on his stomach that are bleeding. There's some internal damage but… it's not enough to make it a werewolf attack. A werewolf’s claws would gut a normal human… but the way Lupin’s lying so unnaturally and the way he's obviously not been ripped to shreds makes me wonder-,”

“You think he forced a transformation,” Draco says sharply and she winces at the tone of his voice.

“That's barmy! It's not even the full moon!” Ron cries out.

Harry looks like he's about to retch. “Is that possible?” 

“Of course it is,” Draco mutters. “Greyback can transform whenever he wants. But that is because of the bloodlust. He is a werewolf that has tasted human blood. Your teacher could not have succeeded.”

“But he did,” Hermione says vehemently. “He's not dead. He obviously fought on equal footing.”

“He  _ did _ lose Greyback,” Draco points out.

Everyone decides then to ignore him and Harry kneels beside Lupin to help Hermione best as he can. They stabilise his wounds and dress it in the most rudimentary manner, but he is no longer lying in a pool of his own blood so Hermione thinks it's an upgrade. 

They levitate the body between them and rise to their feet, Ron already speaking.

“Let's Apparate out of here fast,” he says. “I know the location for the new safehouse."

Harry nods. “Molly will be able to heal Lupin and we can organise a search party if everyone is ready. ”

They share glances and all avoid looking at Malfoy before the blond notices and scowls. 

“You're just going to leave me here,” he sighs irritatedly.

“We didn't ask for your help,” Hermione reminds him.

He throws her a scowl and shakes his head. “I have a better idea. You send Lupin with me and I'll make sure he gets healed. After all I have better resources and a healer that isn't your friend's stay at home mother.”

“Hey!” Ron shouts in indignation, and even Harry looks offended. 

“He's  _ our _ Order member. We'd never trust you with him even if we didn't have a single healer!” he snaps.

“And we do have a healer,” Ron presses. “My mother is a perfectly fine at it- she heals every single one of us. She even healed your slimy friend Nott who I'm sure betrayed us somehow!”

Hermione presses her fingers to her temple in a moment of pure stress. “Can you all shut up?” 

Nobody hears her.

“I don't know what you have against Nott because he's been nothing but  _ helpful _ -,” Draco starts to argue before Harry cuts him off.

“You’d say that, you're his friend! You should just leave before we make you!”

“I saved your sorry arses back there! Doesn't that mean  _ something _ ?” Malfoy shouts in outrage, swinging his arm so wildly that it nearly smacks Hermione in the face.

She ducks at the last moment but her hold on the levitation spell slips, letting Lupin drop to the floor like a sack of Bludgers. 

“Shit!” Harry squeaks at the resounding  _ thud _ Lupin’s body makes when it hits the floor, but there's a small groan that follows and everyone freezes in place.

Everyone but Malfoy, who moves fluidly towards the body without the slightest hesitation.

“Draco?” the professor says in a dry voice as he blinks up at the wizard. 

Hermione knows her confusion is displayed vividly across her face and she sees Harry’s shout of joy die in his throat as he turns to glare at Malfoy.

To his credit, the blond seems to understand how awkward this all has become. 

“Lupin,” he says roughly, crouching to give the professor a hand as the others watch them in quiet confusion and growing horror. “What did Severus tell you about being stupidly heroic?” 

The frail professor barks a short laugh, blood dribbling onto his lips even as he smiles. “I don't quite think about him in times of peril.”

“He didn't survive this long being an idiot,” Draco says seriously as he surreptitiously casts spells over Remus as the other man stands on trembling feet. “It would do you some good to listen.”

Remus makes a noise of pain but soldiers on. He seems to shrug off the fact that his new bandages are turning slightly pink at the center, but Hermione cannot turn a blind eye. Despite the strange way Lupin leans into Draco’s assisting arm she shuffles over and begins to cast a few spells to still the flow of blood.

“Ah, thank you Hermione. I didn't notice you were here. Although I should have, considering Draco is. I must say you make quite the team-,”

“Professor  _ what _ ?” Harry sputters, surprising the older wizard with his indignant interruption.

“Oh. Harry,” Lupin says quietly. “You're here too. And Ronald, wonderful this is… just wonderful. You did not evacuate?”

“Didn't you?” Ron demands, stepping forward before noticing Malfoy’s protective arm around the wizard and stepping back with a scowl. “Why were you here alone?”

Remus flashes them a pained grimace. “Kingsley would not hear about restraining Greyback and transporting him, and I knew he was important to some degree. I had to make sure he didn't get into the wrong hands.”

“Alone?” Harry presses. “We would have helped you if you had asked, Remus!”

Lupin clears his throat. “Mister Nott did assist me. He followed Fenrir after he managed to Apparate out once the wards dropped. Someone should go help him.”

Hermione looks up alarmed. “Theodore is chasing after Greyback alone? How?” 

Draco answers this question with a heavy sigh. “He'll trace the Apparition residue. It's how Aurors track criminals. It's also how I made my way here. You Apparated to a street nearby when you left our safe house that day.”

Hermione feels like smacking herself  _ and _ Draco for good measure. 

“ _ What _ ?” she hisses, positively venomous in her anger. “You followed me?” 

“No… and yes. I had Jesse track you that day because I had my hands full. But don't get your panties in a twist- it came in handy! I helped you lot today didn't I?” he says indignantly.

She has never wanted to pull out his stupid hair more than she does now. 

“You… you ferret!” she shrieks, but Harry holds her back with a quiet question.

“Lupin… how do you and Malfoy know each other exactly?” 

Hermione stills at the question and nobody misses the quick look the blond shares with their professor. 

“Let's talk about it someplace safe,” Lupin says raggedly after a resigned sigh. “Come. I will show you where to Apparate. I will need Draco to assist me if I am not to splinch myself, so you all will have to Apparate alone.”

Hermione sees the safe house she's become familiar with in her mind's eye when Lupin passes his hand over her face and soon after the three of them have been given the memory, Draco disappears with a loud snap.

Hermione scowls at the empty space before them and counts two seconds before Harry explodes.

“That stinking ferret!” he shouts angrily before swinging his wand out to hurl a hex at the far end of the room. “Argh, I can't believe he put his slimy hands on Lupin! And he just Apparated him away like its his business!”

Hermione understood Harry’s anger. Lupin was the only person left with a connection to his father and the man had been a great help after Sirius’ untimely passing. It must be hard seeing him accept help from someone like Malfoy. Especially Malfoy. She swallows the tightness in her throat and tries to move things along.

“Harry we should follow them,” she says quickly.

“Lupin spends time with Malfoy?” Ron mumbles to himself, eyebrows pulled together as he puzzles out the new development. “This world has officially gone bonkers.”

Hermione has never felt so claustrophobic in her life. Everything feels as if its closing around her so quickly and she finds she cannot really breathe around the panic in her chest, but the building above them rocks with a sudden explosion and she quickly grabs the hand closest to her.

It's Ron’s and she doesn't look to see his shocked expression before whirling to snap at Harry.

“We have to Apparate  _ now! _ ” she demands, pausing only to picture the cottage in her mind’s eye. “Hurry or we'll end up being buried alive and Malfoy will have to save us… again.”

Her words silence the two boys and she's almost convinced that Harry manages to Apparate out faster than she does. 


	16. Bet You Thought That I Was Dead...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...but I'm not dead.  
>  That's a line from Stronger by The Score  
> I couldn't get it out of my head and it fits this chapter too well so I made it the title even though its kinda long eheheh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! I'm alive. I'm so sorry this chapter isn't great but I needed some exposition and it just wouldn't work for so long so I decided to post it and move on. It's beyond fixing now I've toiled over it for like... forever.  
> HOPE YOU ENJOY.

The cottage is larger than it looked like before now that she's standing outside it with Harry and Ron in tow. The friendly porch is a tad intimidating as they pass through, and the silent halls greet them with cold indifference. Malfoy’s people are nowhere to be seen and she is eternally grateful for it. Even though they're moving swiftly they're not in a position to be greeted by a horde of nosy Americans.

Harry is scowling angrily as they wander around and Ron whistles to himself as he traces the clean furniture and shiny lighting fixtures. They're all silent for the most part; contemplating the sudden and jarring turn of events. 

“They don't hold back on the glitz even when they're renegades, eh?” Ron sighs suddenly, eyeing a gilded mirror that hangs on the wall. “What a life.”

“He  _ did _ lose his childhood home to a madman,” Hermione shrugs, watching as Harry avoids entering the conversation. 

Ron makes a face at her words. “Yes. Well. That was an unfortunate development I suppose. Although hardly surprising.”

“I doubt they signed up for murdering people on their kitchen table,” Hermione muses.

Harry can't help but cave in and snort at that. “Sure. Lucius Malfoy only joined for the for  _ verbal _ racism, spread through political agenda and harsh Pureblood etiquette,” he says sardonically. “That's when you sign up to a lobby group against the Wizengamot, not side with a literal maniac murderer!”

Ron sniggers under his breath and Hermione rolls her eyes. She doesn't really want to talk about Lucius Malfoy anymore.

“Over here,” Draco’s voice carries across the hall from a room on the left, blessedly saving her from having to reply.

The door is slightly ajar and warm light spills through the open crack. The trio push it open further and pile into the cozy room. Despite its rather tiny size, the room is as plush and well decorated as the one Hermione had been in before and she mutters about  _ unfair advantages  _ and  _ spoilt rich kid rebels  _ in a bitter undertone. Draco ignores her. 

He guides her into the room with a hand to the small of her back, long fingers easily covering most of her waist as she fights against the blush that rises to her cheeks. It's ridiculous, really.

The mere proximity makes her flush like a bloody poppy on victory day. It wasn't even a sexual advance. Just a polite nudge for her to move so Harry can shuffle in and so that Ron can take the sole armchair. Once they're all awkwardly packed around the small bed they avoid each other's eyes and watch Lupin as he lies peacefully still.

“Someone took their time getting here,” Draco says almost mulishly, speaking to no one in particular but addressing them all.

“We weren't out there stealing anything if that's what you’re concerned about,” Ron mutters. 

“Is he alright?” Harry brusquely asks over him.

Draco looks loathe to answer- as if their intentions of leaving him behind earlier had grievously wounded him.  “I put him under a resting spell for a while. The gashes are deep and talking will not help him in this condition. My healer will be here shortly.”

Harry looks like he's about to argue but thinks better of it considering they were on Malfoy’s turf now and could be severely outnumbered. “How in the hell do you know him, Malfoy?” he snaps instead. 

Draco’s jaw twitches in that way it does when he's agitated and doesn't want to let on. He takes moment before answering and when he does he looks right at her, so Hermione directs her gaze to Lupin.

“The night Voldemort tortured my mother I ran away from home. I Apparated actually, without thinking, and ended up in Hogwarts with a badly splinched leg. Remus was on patrol there and he found me bleeding out in what was left of the Great Hall.”

Draco pauses and swallows visibly, eyes focused on Remus’ sallow face now. He blinks quickly and then forges on with his story.

“He helped me. He healed me as much as he could, but the wound was large and he wasn't prepared. I think he saw me for what I was then- a wounded idiot… way out of his depth. Barely struggling to stay alive. So he offered me a way out,” Draco continues, ignoring the sharp intakes of breath coming from around him. “He asked me to go home with him. To join the Order.”

Hermione takes a breath and realizes she can't quite keep it in. Draco had been asked to join her side. He'd almost…  _ almost _ … taken the chance to work with her. Unbidden, a thought surfaces: a different timeline. A different life. One where he is by  _ her _ side, fighting for the light, instead of them both secretly fighting for whatever they can. 

_ Don't kid yourself _ , Draco’s voice purrs in her mind.  _ Being good is a bad look for me. _

_ Get out of my head _ , she thinks back.  _ And what if I liked good men more? _

_ Then you'd be with Weasley _ , he thinks back, somehow emitting the essence of a scoff through his thoughts alone.  _ And we both know you're not into  _ **_vanilla_ ** _. _

Hermione tries to convey how aghast she is mentally, but an agitated voice cuts through her thoughts.

“And?” Harry demands, interrupting their silent conversation in confusion. “Then what? No one asked you to you stop.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Then I said no obviously, Potter.”

“Why? You had nowhere to go!” Harry prods, voice still skeptic. 

“I'm not an idiot, Potter. Just because one man shows me a kindness it doesn't mean the whole Order will! What do you take me for?” Draco hisses, whirling to face the other wizard.

They're barely matched in height when Harry straightens in response. Yet he peers up at Draco with as much disdain as he can muster, and they both face off with shoulders squared and mirrored scowls. 

Ron sighs. “Come off it, Harry. We're just slowing down the story. So Lupin helped him once. Doesn't mean he'll become comfortable with him… or put his life in his hands.”

Draco senses Ron’s reluctant assistance for the olive branch that it really is, and relents first. “Alright you nosy lot,” he grumbles. “I'll tell you but you better stop interrupting. It's juvenile. Control yourselves.”

Hermione squirms in place as she puts a hand on Harry's arm, pulling him back and away from Draco. It's a small room but they all shuffle around again until there's a respectable distance from them, the bed, and Malfoy. 

Lupin stirs, still unconscious, and this seems to spur Malfoy on. 

“I left him to work on my own. Since then, I pulled myself together and tried to effect some change in the tide of this war. It had gone on too long- taken too much from me.”

“You still had good old daddy dear,” Harry says, seemingly unable to  _ shut up _ .

Draco surprises them but just laughing shortly; a sharp, sardonic sound. “Yes. Good old dad who stood by and watched the love of his life die at the hand of his master. Watched his son be tortured within an inch of his life. No, my father died in my eyes way before Hermione killed him,” he says heavily.

The atmosphere in the room changes, dropping to a low thrum of awkward tension and the three Order members grow aware of the pain in Malfoy’s gaze. It throws them off and Hermione nearly steps forward to gather him in her arms.

“I worked alone for a long time, helping some Muggles in return for a place to stay and food to eat. I kept them safe, but the Order soon moved their fights closer to that village so I had to work myself up to bigger, better goals,” Draco continues, smirking lightly before adding on; “But not without one final hurrah for them, I guess. As a thank you note.”

Hermione faintly remembers the mention of a Muggle fishing town. Remembers Cadgwith, Cornwall. The mission for the payload that had gone awry awfully fast. The one Malfoy had rudely interrupted. Ron snorts at Draco’s words, but when she turns she sees his face is crinkled with amusement instead of disdain. 

“You outmaneuvered my whole team, Malfoy,” he says casually. “That was rather impressive. And annoying. Mostly annoying.”

Draco smirks back. “Yes well, I didn't hear the end of it from dear-,”

_ NO, _ Hermione shouts, casting a rapid  _ Legilimens _ to snap violently in the wizard’s head.

Draco winces and she barrels on, planting her thoughts in his mind. 

_ They can't know we've been meeting each other since then!  _

To his credit, Draco only rubs two fingers against the bridge of his nose and carries on with his story, pointedly ignoring the boys’ twin looks of mild concern and Hermione's own frantic stare. 

“Let's hurry this up then,” Draco says stiltedly. “You know Severus is my godfather.”

Harry grunts in some semblance of a reply.

Draco takes it as a sign to go on. “On a day that Severus normally visits with potions and news, he brought Lupin along. No explanation. No notice. Just entered as usual but with Remus in tow. It happened this way for some time after that- Severus would come accompanied with Remus and while my godfather would brew potions and attend to important work, Lupin would just  _ talk.  _ About nothing and everything and we struck up an accord.”

Hermione doesn't have to look at Harry to know that he doesn't believe a word of this.

“What do you mean Lupin turned up with Snape out of the blue? You didn't ask them why they were together? Why… why didn't you curse him on sight?” Harry argues predictably, his concerns striking a chord with Hermione. “He could have been so much trouble for you!”

Something isn't right with Draco’s messy story. Something is off and she isn't sure what, but the sensation of just  _ knowing  _ burrows in her chest and lurks there, like a shadow. She tries to wriggle into his mind again but his mental walls have slammed up tight; an impenetrable fortress for a rookie like her. She scowls and waits to hear him out. 

“Anyone my godfather deems is trustworthy is someone worthy of my trust as well,” Draco says simply, his tone a little harsh around the edges. 

“Hold up mate,” Ron shakes his head, slowly becoming suspicious as well. “Snape brought an Order member to your hidey-hole and you just shrugged? Really?”

Draco’s mouth tightens imperceptibly and he glares at Lupin as if urging him to wake up and fix this mess. 

“Let me go see what's taking the healer so long,” the blond says quickly and artlessly.

Harry nearly tackles him the second the words leave his mouth. “No! You're not going anywhere until you  _ explain! _ What kind of idiot just lets his enemies walk into his base of operations? Do you think we're stupid?”

“Actually I do,” Draco snaps back. “None of this has anything to do with why you're here. Lupin clearly trusts me and that's my business, not yours. So butt out. I don't even know why I decided to tell you anything-,”

“Draco,” Hermione says warning, trying desperately to make eye contact. 

“It's not like you said anything useful anyway,” Harry fumes, jabbing at Malfoy’s chest. “You just lied your arse off just now!”

“ _ Harry, _ ” Hermione huffs. “God, stop this you two.”

Draco doesn't hear her- or he does and willingly ignores her plea. He steps closer to Harry until they're breathing into each other's faces, his lips twisted into an ugly grimace. It's a harsh reminder of the bully in him and Hermione bites her lip to keep herself from gulping. Even Ron seems taken aback by the tension in the air.

“You don't have any right to know about my past,” he snarls. “So take your useless gang of heroes and  _ leave. _ ”

“Draco, what the hell?” Hermione gasps, darting forward to grab at Harry's shoulder to keep him from  _ smashing Malfoy’s face in _ .

“You know what, we don't need you!” Harry says while she grapples with him. “You can stay here in your stupid house and cry until we defeat Voldemort!”

“I killed him, Potter!” Draco shouts back. “ _ I _ did that! Not you!” 

Harry yells then, lunging forward with his fists raised, wand forgotten, and Hermione has only a second to choose between the two and freeze her friend in place with a close-range  _ Petrificus Totalus _ . 

Ron swears quietly and grabs Harry’s Petrified body before it hits the ground, and Draco stares at her with wide, wild eyes.

“Shit,” he says. “Sorry.”

“You better be sorry, you idiot,” she bites, feeling her voice wobbly lightly as if teetering on the edge of unrequested tears. “We're supposed to work to _ gether _ . How can we get anything done if you keep fighting like children?!”

Draco takes a minute to look abashed and hangs his head, and it's Ron who speaks up in the interim silence. 

“It's all we know how to do with each other, ‘Mione,” he says quietly, cradling Harry’s angry body in his arms. “We can't do much else.”

She shoots him an angry glare and stomps a foot. “I don't care! I don't care and Voldemort doesn't care. He'll just come back to life no matter where our alliances lay and no matter what structures of power we build for ourselves- and we'll all be fighting again. And I hope you're listening too, Harry, because you all will have to kiss and makeup or something because I don’t have enough energy to fight this war  _ and  _ my friends.”

Her breaths leave her in heavy huffs as she stands there by the foot of Lupin’s bed, her arms crossed and chest heaving. She dares to flick her eyes to Draco but he's staring resolutely at his feet so she turns her eyes back to Ron's astonished face. 

“Sure, Mione,” he says, rather slack-jawed. “But Harry’s gonna be so mad that you froze him.”

Hermione winces at that. “He is isn't he?”

“I'm sure he'll forgive you,” a familiar voice croaks, and they all whirl to face Lupin’s prone figure.

“Remus!” Hermione gasps, rushing to his side.

Behind her, Draco waves his wand with a silent  _ finite  _ and Harry stumbles onto his own feet with a sharp breath.

“Lupin!” he shudders. “You're okay, you're alright!” 

He shoulders past Hermione to grasp at his mentor's hand. “I thought… I thought I lost you too.”

And at that Hermione winces, noting Draco do the same through the corner of her eye. No matter what transpired and no matter what he said in anger, Harry was just truly worried for the only living link to his past and his parents. The only person who truly understood his pain. Hermione bites her lip and steps back to stand with Ron and they all pretend not to listen as Lupin coughs and quietly reassures Harry that he's not going anywhere just yet.

The two stay that way, their heads pressed together, for some time before Lupin ruffles Harry’s hair and sits up a little straighter. 

“Your medical spells need a little work, Draco,” he says in a light tone.

His face is pallid and he looks closer to death than before, but his bandages stay clean and spotless as he moves so Hermione hopes at least that Draco’s rough stitches will hold till the healer arrives.

“Nott hasn't returned,” the blond says tightly.

Lupin nods with a grave mien. “I suspect it will take him some time. Is anyone on the way to help? I don't want to be a burden but you'll need some help for what's to come and I'd rather be there for that.”

“And in one piece,” Ron says awkwardly.

“Of course, Ronald,” Lupin smiles. “That would be ideal.”

“Are you really comfortable here?” Harry asks carefully. “The twins can still let us in through the wards, and you're alright enough for us to Apparate you without splinching.”

Lupin nods his head slowly, mousy brown hair draped across his forehead, stuck in place with sweat and dried blood. 

“I'm quite alright, Harry. Snape and I… we had some work here.”

“Did Kingsley know?” 

Harry’s voice is tinged with suspicion and a subtle undertone of hurt that Hermione almost misses but sees anyway in the look in his eyes. No one speaks in the stony silence and  Hermione is sure that Lupin’s answer will change everything.

But there's a loud  _ crack _ from the gardens outside and Ron dashes for the window just as Draco does, both men reaching for their wands simultaneously. 

“Someone's come,” Draco says quickly. “It's probably the healer. I'll get them, you lot stay here.”

The wizard then heads for the door, hurriedly squeezing past Hermione and Ron with barely a warning. He pauses at the door for a second and then turns to Harry. “Do  _ not _ let him move from that bed.”

Then he leaves in a flurry of his stupid robes and Ron whistles at the dramatic exit, rolling his eyes when Lupin chuckles.

“He's just so… annoying,” Harry grumbles. 

“Come on mate,” Ron chides. “You were singing his praises after that stunt he pulled with Voldemort in the Ministry. What's going on?”

“Yeah, Harry,” Hermione sighs. “You can't just deck him in his own house. I thought we agreed to get his help.”

Harry averts his eyes, but Lupin seems to have caught on.

“Harry,” he starts carefully. “I know things are confusing right now. But... the Order hasn't been functioning well as of late. You must know this, I'm sure. You've noticed how we’re struggling to stay afloat, so you shouldn’t be averse to any assistance we receive.”

“What are you trying to say?” Harry asks, voice hoarse. 

Lupin coughs gently and rubs at his bandages. “I'm trying to say that... we failed. The adults you looked up to have failed you. We thought we knew what to do and we thought we had all the mechanisms in place to defeat this...  _ monster. _ But the Order is no more than a bunch of old wizards and witches, still stuck in the old way of doing things. We're trying to be  _ good _ and  _ lawful _ in a battle that has destroyed both those things.”

He pauses to cough, doubled over in pain as his body is wracked with shudders. Hermione casts a quick soothing charm over him and the agony slowly subsides until Lupin can sit straight again.

“Don't say that, Lupin?” Ron offers gently. “We know you tried-,”

“We may not have slaughtered Muggles or done anything absurd like the Death Eaters have. But our failure as the Ministry and the only protectors of Wizarding kind is grievous enough,” Lupin says in a raspy voice, eyes downcast.”

Everyone is silent at that, unsure what to say and too on edge to even  _ breathe _ . 

“We had to do something.  _ I _ had to do something. I had to fix this for you… for us. For your child, Harry. For all the children of the future, still unborn. So I spoke to Severus… and he had a plan. A stupid one. It sounded like suicide. But you can only die if you  _ do something _ . So I said yes.”

“That's why you visited Malfoy with Snape? You sided with them?” Ron frowns. “You were working with them all this time?” 

Lupin glances at Harry and when he sees his look of confusion and worry, he relents. 

“I know you must hate me now. I know you must not trust me at all. But I hope you can believe me when I say that this was the only option I had left.”

“Why didn't you tell anybody?” Harry asks. 

_ Why didn't you tell me _ , is what Hermione thinks his question really is.

“Kingsley did not stand for an alliance. We have spoken about it long and hard… ever since Dumbledore tried to help the Slytherin students join the Order before the time came for them to choose a side. We ended up deciding to let them go in their own course… after all, we needed someone to kill Albus.”

“So you just let Draco kill him? You anticipated that one of those  _ kids _ would have to kill their headmaster and let it be that way?” Hermione asks, aghast.

“Hermione, we have done you all wrong and I know this now. I knew it then but I was too hell-bent on destroying them to notice it. I was too focused on revenge… too drunk on my own righteous fury. But now I see there are no lines between us all… just greys. Dark murky greys.”

He sounds so desolate and sad that Harry seems to have forgiven him instantly, grabbing his mentor's shoulder in a show of support. He crouches by the bedside on his knees and shakes his head.

“All of this, this alliance- it's what you thought was the best move for the Order. You did what you thought was best,” he mutters quietly.

“But that's just it, Harry. This alliance is truly what is best for us!” Lupin says sharply, looking up at them with fresh, bright eyes. “It worked for so long. The Malfoys are rich and powerful- they had many ties that helped us with our missions after I joined them. They let me take a small allowance to stretch the Order’s budget for supplies and they even called in help from outside the country. We couldn't have got this far without them. We wouldn't have had Greyback without them.”

At this Ron sputters and Hermione feels her stomach sink to the bottom of her feet like an anchor, dragged down by the tides and its own guilty weight.

“Hold up,” the redhead says imperiously, waving a hand in the air. “ _ We _ captured Greyback. Hermione and I. Not Malfoy.”

Lupin tilts his head and then realizes his mistake. “Oh. Yes. Well… Mister Nott actually played a large role in that.”

“Nott? Theo Nott?” Ron frowns. “He was with Voldemort before he turned over to the Order, wasn’t he? That means the Order got him… not Malfoy. He's our informant.”

Hermione holds her breath.

_ Oh god oh god, it's all coming down. _

Too fast. It was going to shit way too fast.

“Mister Nott was indeed high among the Dark Lord’s ranks,” Lupin acknowledges somberly. “But only because Mister Malfoy had the foresight to keep a spy for himself, of course. When we decided we needed Greyback as a prisoner, we pulled Mister Nott out.”

“ _ We _ ? So you and Malfoy schemed to pull Nott out of the Death Eater circle just to send him to the Order?” Harry spits, lurching to his feet. “You had him spy on us?”

Lupin shakes his head furiously, dislodging a few bandages as he works himself up into a better sitting position, arms waving frantically. 

“Harry, you must understand,” he urges them. “There wasn't much to spy on… he was just keeping tabs on your safety. We had a plan. A big plan. And that included the three of you. Well… mostly Hermione. She wanted Hermione the most, but I said you wouldn't join us if your friends didn't.”

_ Oh how wrong that was _

“What do you mean they want Hermione?” Ron demands, automatically grabbing her shoulders. “They can't just have her like that.”

Lupin shrugs at this. “I don't know exactly. But Miss Granger is an exceptional witch of great power. I've been teaching her all I know in hopes that she'll be able to aid us in the future. And Nott was sent to make sure Miss Granger didn't die in some worthless mission. The battle isn't over and our plans have yet to be set in motion. I do not know the details but she will reveal it to you soon, I hope. Time is running out.”

“Wait… who will? Who are we talking about?” Harry sighs in desperation, pulling at his hair and glaring at their professor. “Who are you working for? Who's this benefactor with money? Draco Malfoy ran away from home… he's hardly a wealthy ally. You said she wants Hermione… who is this  _ she _ ?”

Remus Lupin looks at them with something akin to mild confusion despite the absolute lack of understanding upon their own faces. He takes in their nonplussed expressions and frowns a little as if he's thrown off by their lack of knowledge as to what’s going on.

And Hermione knows, she  _ knows  _ it's going to be something  _ ridiculous  _ because fate has a way of keeping everyone on their toes. First, it was that Voldemort was alive, then it was that he had Horcruxes, then one Horcrux was Harry, and then he doesn't die when all the Horcruxes are destroyed, but then he does die and but he can resurrect again.

So she  _ knows _ but she still bites her lip and lets her stomach knot in anticipation.

“Did Draco not tell you anything at all?” Remus asks wryly. “He just left it all to me to explain, eh?”

Harry snorts harshly. “He tried to but it sounded like he was just lying. So please, Remus… tell us what’s going on.”

“Well if Draco hasn’t said a word then I’m not sure how you’ll even believe what I’m going to say-,”

“Try us,” Harry interrupts, unrelenting.

Hermione feels a headache coming on. “It’s a witch, isn’t it. Someone who’s eluded us for some time, someone we would never suspect because… because she’s  _ dead _ .”

Lupin starts, eyes wide as he looks at her in shock. “How did you know-,”

“I saw her,” Hermione gulps, ignoring the boys’ twin looks of utter bewilderment. “In the cottage library. It’s her, isn’t it? It’s Pansy Parkinson.”

Lupin spends a second in shock before he laughs outright, holding his bandages as he belts out a short guffaw. 

“No goodness, no!” he chokes out as Hermione flushes in embarrassment.

“I did see her!” she protests over Lupin’s chuckles.

“And I’m sure you might have. But Miss Parkinson is dead, Miss Granger. She really is. Unfortunately, it’s become a habit of Draco’s to glamour people to look like her as a…  _ prank  _ let’s say. It’s awful but he does it to aggravate a... certain someone.”

“Does this certain someone happen to be our mystery witch?” Harry deadpans, already tired of being strung along. 

Lupin clears his throat self-consciously. “Oh. Yes. I haven’t told you yet.”

“So stop dragging it along and tell us!” Harry snaps, fists at his sides.

“I’m sorry Harry, it’s just… it’s difficult to explain-,”

“ _ Lupin _ .” 

“It’s Narcissa Malfoy.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“Harry, he said  _ Narcissa Malfoy _ -,”

“Yes, I heard him, Hermione. I’m just-,”

“You mean Draco’s dead mum?”

“I suppose, Ronald. Not very eloquently put but yes.”

“Oh sod your eloquence, Lupin. You took five minutes to get to this point!”

“Harry, I’m  _ sorry  _ but it is rather unbelievable a fact to just pull out of nowhere, isn’t it?”

“Yeah well, taking so much time didn’t really sell us on the idea either.”

Harry goes silent after saying that, contemplating the window with angry eyes. Ron’s sitting blankly in the armchair, and Hermione looks at the three men with dread clawing up her throat that doesn’t settle no matter how hard she swallows. 

“Well. At least she’s been a gracious host,” she says finally.

“I don’t think she’s aware that you are here, truth be told. Draco may have forcibly altered the wards to let you in,” Lupin says quietly.

“Well, fuck me,” Ron groans. “Do we have to worry about her coming in to kill us for trespassing now?”

“Honestly?” Lupin ventures as sudden  _ loud  _ cracks of apparition fill the air. “You probably should.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so if you think Harry was too annoyed at Draco, just understand that his only living parental figure (that's linked to his childhood) nearly died and then sided with his sworn enemy/childhood bully. so he's a little torn up. He still obviously sticks by his previous word that Draco is doing good shit and being helpful (cause he kinda saved Harry, twice) but he's a little jealous and upset that's all


	17. Adrenaline Momentum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiddos! I'm back! Thank you so much for the comments they gave me life
> 
> VictoriaStation: you're too kind love. Hope you're still reading this!
> 
> SadlySane: I don't know if I replied to you But I have updated twice now !
> 
> Anglwitch6090: I'm so glad you got that. I didn't want to spend too much time on it but the good side seems to always want to flaunt their goodness and it's just not possible in war ya know?
> 
> Michele: Distracting you from work is the highest honour I can receive 
> 
> Delicatenature: Making you late for work might actually be the actual highest honour ahah 
> 
> Karma+cookie: you know we're going big and drawn out baby!
> 
> Takingflight8: You don't know how long I was tossing between them as well haha. In then Narcissa was more interesting to write and I'd given her a better set up ya know.

Hermione would surely regret it later when she’s more collected and less panicky, but her first thought after hearing the distinct sounds of multiple apparitions is to bolt.

She’s out the door before her mind can catch up to her thoughts, her hip clipping on the handle on her way out. The bone there stings as if she’d been bloody shot but she pays it no mind as her feet lead her to the front of the cottage where she knows Draco will be. Some part of her is beginning to beat itself up over leaving Harry and Ron alone to deal will the bomb Lupin had dropped on them all, but she can barely focus on her friends’ feelings right now. Harry would get over it soon enough, he’s a big boy.

What she needs right now is to confront buggering _Malfoy_ about how his mother is _still alive_ and _kicking_.

What the hell?

What the actual _hell_ was going on with the world?

Why couldn’t the dead just stay _dead_?

First Voldemort and now Narcissa fucking Malfoy.

She probably never did die, but still. The logic stands.

_Merlin’s balls_ , Hermione swears to herself.

She finds Draco frozen in the entrance hall, face turned to greet the newcomers. His stance is tense as if he’d been expecting someone unfriendly, but he hasn’t relaxed upon seeing that the visitor is his _dear_ _mum_ , so Hermione is sure he isn’t prepared to explain this to them.

Unbeknownst to him, Lupin has already spilled the beans so Hermione allows herself to feel a modicum of smugness before panicking again.

There’s a slight twig of a man standing beside Draco- a slim, porcelain toned wizard whom she assumes is the healer he’d called for. Both men face the doorway and seem to somehow grow _paler_ as the seconds tick by and the footsteps nearing the house grow louder.

“Honestly,” a voice demands primly from outside, sending a chill up Hermione’s spine. “If you’re going to just go around changing the wards then you should at least send some warning, Draco. I’d much rather _not_ have to trek all the way out here to make sure you aren’t dead, or worse.”

The voice is so familiar and horrifying that Hermione wishes she hadn’t made the decision to come out here and confront the Malfoys. The tall imposing figure of Narcissa Malfoy only slightly blocks out the sun from the doorway when she steps in. She's flanked by two older witches who are draped in sleek robes that change colour to match their surroundings. They strike an intimidating image; a feminine force to be reckoned with.

“Mother,” Draco stammers, fidgeting in place even as the healer nearly swoons in fear.

“Dear boy,” Narcissa murmurs, and her voice is a reprimand. “Please tell me you have a valid explanation for why several hundred alarms are going off in the French home as we speak."

“You needn't have come all the way here from _France_ ,” Draco mutters at the revelation. “There was just a small emergency."

“One that required you to abandon all rules regarding secrecy and safe houses?”

“It was a matter of life and death,” her son sighs, back stiff.

“You'd better hope so,” Narcissa frowns. “Are all three of the intruders actively dying?”

“They're not intruders,” Draco clarifies tiredly.

“I brought them here. I modified the wards- I didn't break them.”

“Well you did a bad job of it, my dragon. The klaxons nearly made my ears bleed and what a travesty it would be if I were no longer capable of hearing your beautiful voice as you make pointless excuses to me.”

Draco sighs longsufferingly. “I'm sorry my actions threatened your hearing, mother.”

Narcissa smirks privately. “Why thank you dear. Now. How many are dying?”

“Just one.”

“Not on my carpet I hope,” Narcissa sniffs, eyeing the healer by Draco’s side who has yet to show signs of being alive.

“No I stabilised him and he's in a magically induced sleep-,”

“He's awake now,” Hermione finds herself interrupting.

Both Malfoys turn to appraise her; Draco in mild surprise and Narcissa in slight disappointment.

“Miss Granger,” she purrs when she recovers a fraction of a second later. “What an ill-timed pleasure.”

Hermione isn’t sure what to say back.

“I would apologize for my son’s inability to keep a secret, but I suppose his bumbling just now should be entertaining enough to tide you over,” Narcissa continues. “Now if you excuse me, I am only here to learn of why centuries worth of blood wards have been tampered with without my prior knowledge.”

Did she ever speak like a normal human being? Hermione doesn’t know. It’s like the woman is talking in prose. She dares not say a word in case she’d come off as illiterate. Mr. Malfoy had been easy to deal with as he’d always been foul and loathsome, but Narcissa is another entity altogether and Hermione has very little patience for tact and diplomacy nowadays. Plus, she’d _killed the woman’s husband_. That little factoid can’t possibly make things easier.

“Lupin was gravely hurt in the siege on the Order,” Draco says grimly, slowly recovering from the quickly snowballing events of the day.

Narcissa’s gaze sharpens minutely. “Ah. So he's the one who's bleeding out on my furniture. How unfortunate. But why ever is he here?"

Hermione has a feeling Mrs. Malfoy was truly asking why Draco had thought fit to bring in extra Order members.

“He needed immediate attention. Greyback had carved out his abdomen,” Draco explains, and as if the healer had just remembered his job, the slight man startles and scuttles towards the corridor at the other wizard’s words.

Narcissa watches him go with barely concealed distaste.

“Really, Draco?” she says quietly. “You had to call for that man? You know how much I despise simpering fools.”

“He hasn't said a word to you, mother,” Draco sighs in the way one would if they'd fought a similar battle many times over to no avail.

“Yes, but I can feel it coming off of him in waves,” Narcissa retorts primly.

“Mother, please. If he wants to help the family, then let him help, dammit,” Draco grunts in annoyance.

Narcissa only lifts her nose. “It's beyond distracting to watch sycophants care for my wounded. He's only here because he wishes to ride on the back of our tide of change.”

“You think everyone is out to get you,” Draco mutters lowly.

The blonde witch seems to allow this to pass and instead turns a sharp eye upon Hermione. “It does one no good in this world to speak shallow, worthless words. Don't you agree Miss Granger?”

Hermione jumps at the attention and only barely calms her nerves enough to respond with a shaky, “I'm sure, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Hmm,” the older witch hums consideringly.

“Draco, what about the other two signatures?”

“Potter and Weasley,” the wizard responds, almost meekly.

Narcissa only arches a brow, still appraising Hermione with an inscrutable eye. “How lovely. Let them stay for tea. Then get them the hell out of my home. I'm sure Molly is worried.”

She only pauses a millisecond before saying Mrs. Weasley’s name, and that is rather commendable to Hermione.

Draco clears his throat over her thoughts. “I was hoping they could assist Theo actually.”  
At this, the Malfoy matriarch quirks a lip and shifts her gaze upon her son. “What has dear Theo gotten up to now?”

“He's gone in search of Greyback after the bastard escaped,” Draco sighs, running a hand through his hair absently. “I don't want to leave him alone with that crazy werewolf. Especially after what he did to Lupin.”

Narcissa looks like she might be wincing.

Secretly.

“I understand, but we can't let these boys be near us any longer,” she says, however, with a tone of finality. “There's a reason safehouses stay safe, and that's only if they stay under the proverbial radar. The Chosen One is a blip on the map. Make him leave.”

Draco springs back immediately, fury written into every line in his face. “Are you suggesting we let Greyback get away? Or just let him exact his revenge on Theodore then?”

“I said nothing of the sort,” Narcissa dismisses with a scoff. “Don't get so hysterical- do it yourself or call the American away to take care of it.”

“Jesse is tracking down the site for the first ritual,” Draco practically growls.

“Sort your priorities-,”

“We need the site on lockdown if we have any hope of stemming the insurgency,” Draco retaliates.

“Then that's clearly more important-,”

“We also need Greyback, Mother, why are you being so difficult-,”

“I'll go.”

Hermione almost turns to look for the voice that has spoken up, but then her mouth closes and both Malfoys turn to stare incredulously, and she realises it was just stupid old her.

“Hermione no,” Draco rolls his eyes without the slightest hesitation, without even pretending to consider it.

“Hermione yes,” she snarks back with a shaky scoff. “You need help, you just said it yourself. I didn't side with you to only pry into the minds of your half dead prisoners. Don't be an idiot, Malfoy, let me help you.”

Draco looks like he's ready to lay down a several hundred arguments against her simple logic, but Hermione is more preoccupied with the wry smirk on the Lady Malfoy's face.

“Yes darling, don’t be an idiot,” the matriarch states archly at her son. “So be it, Miss Granger. I do hope you know I was planning this union to happen in a far more controlled environment, but since my son has jumped the wand, so to say, I must throw my eggs into your basket at once. Let's take down the resurgence and then make introductions, shall we?”

The witch doesn't wait to watch Hermione scramble for a response and just whirls in a flurry of expensive cashmere as she heads for the door. The duo guarding her follow stiffly, cloaks flapping at their feet.

“Oh and don't think I've forgotten that you killed my dear husband,” Narcissa adds over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought before Apparating away.

_Snow queen, exit stage left._

Two louder pops of Apparition follow immediately after, and then the whole entourage is gone.

The house is eerily silent in her departure and Hermione turns with a shudder to share her fear and awe with the man beside her.

Except somewhere along the dramatic exit, Draco had traded in his shock for anger and was now eyeing her with thinly veiled fury.

“Really, Granger?” he begins, advancing step by step even as she backpedals furiously.

“You're going to get Greyback? You? Remind me who asked you to tag along on this?”

“No one did,” she snaps back. “I volunteered because you had no option-,”

“Volunteered- agh! I was _here_ , I saw when that happened! That's not _volunteering_ … that's … that's asking for trouble! You keep telling me not to be stupid, but then you just throw yourself into bloody danger at every given chance-,”

“How can you be mad at me?” Hermione complains. “Someone has to go after Greyback and help Theo, don't they? It might as well be me.”

“Alone?” Draco scoffs. “No way in hell. I'll go with you.”

Hermione barks out a sharp laugh. “If you think you can help. Fine.”

They continue to breathe heavily until they realise that they’ve accidentally struck an accord, and then slowly come down from the agitated state of argument they'd been in.

They'd go together.

Simple as that.

“What do you know about hell?” Hermione grumbles, just for the sake of argument even as she feels a slight thrill of excitement for the chase to come.

Draco shrugs at her comment. “I read the Bible once when I was bored. Wild story.”

She opens her mouth to respond, closes it and then tilts her head. “I suppose so.”

A panting sound alerts them to someone's arrival a few seconds before Ron jogs into the hall, hair in a disarray.

“Mione, you've _gotta_ come,” he says in between heaving breaths. “We had to tackle Lupin into bed and he broke like half his stitches and is really upset that Harry isn't believing him. The healer is a right goon as well. _Please_ come calm Lupin down. Also, he keeps wanting to come out here and apologise to Narcissa. Speaking of… please tell me that pop I heard was her leaving.”

Draco sighs at the end of the redhead's long tirade.

“She's gone,” Hermione shudders. “But you won't believe how awkward it was. She's so… _terrifying_.”

Ron whistles lowly. “And alive. That's crazy.”

“Weirder things have happened,” Draco points out, nonchalantly brushing past the redhead to make for Lupin’s room.

Ron watches him go and clears his throat heavily. “I guess that's true.”

“Is Harry okay?” Hermione asks after they watch Draco disappear into the room, leaving the door open behind him.

Voices tumble out in varying volumes and tension before soothing into low conversation.

“He's fine,” Ron shakes his head. “He'll be fine. He just needs some space to think it over and come to terms with it. He won't get any space if he insists on being by Lupin this whole time though.”

Hermione nods quietly. “And you?”

Ron grins, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I'm smashing. This whole world is going tits up, but at least I have some things going for me. I could be better, ‘Mione, but I'm bloody good right now all the same.”

She feels him. She understands.

“Something's going to happen right?” Ron says, eyes bright and intense. “We're going to _do_ _something_.”

Hermione isn't sure how far they'd _all_ go in this plan, but she sure as hell was going to play a major role in it and her blood thrummed with joy at the prospect of actually making a change.

Her wand buzzed and her magic sparked at her fingertips; one command and it would burst free and take over the world if it could. She'd be right up there in front lines of Narcissa Malfoy's crazy plan, right with Draco in the heart of the battle. Harry might not… Ron might not either.

“We are,” is what she says however, because she's too darn excited and she can't wait to kill some stupid Death Eaters, and watch Harry reunite with his baby boy and wife, and see Sadie finally give into her heart and ask Ron out, and watch Lupin hug Tonks and tell her everything, and see Kingsley burn as he realises that he could never ever have won at the pace he was going.

“You okay there?” Ron asks tentatively and Hermione knows she must look like a lunatic, smirking to herself.

“Just fine,” she breathes. “Let's go help Harry and Draco.”

She almost skips down the hall and even when Ron mumbles, “Since when did he become _Draco_?”, she doesn't falter one bit.

* * *

 

 

Grimmauld Place is barely anything but rubble when she and Draco arrive to find a hint of Greyback's last disApparition. A few straggling Death Eaters remain as if guarding the destruction. Draco kills one before Hermione can Stun them both. She binds another, but the blonde complains about covering their tracks and kills the remaining Death Eaters as well. They then stumble through the tattered remains of the Fidelius, which reveals some parts of the destroyed house to the public eye yet still valiantly shrouds some others in invisibility.

Hermione clears the path down to the cells and is relieved to find that the destruction hasn't affected the underground room as much as it had everything above the surface. She tries not to let the emotions warring in her heart show on her face, but Draco might have sensed her despair for he takes the lead from her and makes it a point not to look back.

So she drops behind and spares a second to peer around at the remains of their favourite base and Harry’s godfather’s home. The tears that prick at her eyes have to be furiously stifled lest they track down her cheeks and give away her grief. She blinks rapidly in a futile effort to keep them away and tries valiantly to not think of how distraught Harry would be.

He'll be so disappointed when he hears the news and she's fairly sure he might actually cry.

She's suddenly doubly glad that Lupin is still alive, and this thought propels her to catch up to where Draco stands in the broken cell where their professor had lain. A quick hand brushes at the corners of her eyes for unshed tears, and she clears her throat before stifling up to the blonde, hands safely in her pockets now.

He moves his wand swiftly, in a complicated gesture that kind of turns her on, and glowing numbers appear in the air- in the way one would write coordinates- but they are wane and barely visible.

“The spell is struggling,” Draco sighs harshly.

“Greyback’s disApparition was far too long ago for it to catch the residue well.”  
He waves his wand around a wider area as if to catch any remaining specks of magic, if that was how it worked. Hermione watches him and frowns.

“Why don't we track Theo?” she offers. “He might have left a while after. We'd have a better chance following him. He might even have left a calling card for us to notice.”

Another quick spell reveals that he hadn't left a noticeable trace, but his coordinates did show up in a little more discernible manner, compared to the werewolf’s.

Hermione quickly reads it out loud and locks eyes with Draco.

“Will thinking of a coordinate be enough to Apparate without splinching?” she asks with bated breath.

Draco bites his lip in a way that's both distracting and frustrating. “It should be. Try and empty your mind and think of nothing else, okay? We better not side along. Just to decrease the chances of messing up.”

“You go first,” Hermione winces.

Draco takes this in stride with a smirk and prepares his wand. “See you on the flipside, Granger.”

His words are barely out of his mouth when the pop of air filling the vacuum he leaves drowns out everything else. Hermione scowls and closes her eyes tightly before envisioning the coordinates and jumping through the void.

* * *

 

 

She lands on one ankle too heavily and nearly topples over into the soft, dewy grass of the unfamiliar meadow, but she rights herself at the last moment and heaves in frantic breaths of relief. Frigid air smacks into the thin cloth protecting her chest from the elements, and settles as a deep chill against her ribs. Cold dew sparkles on the wet grass like shiny pearls, and when she stomps her feet they shimmer and cascade.  
Standing almost a slope away, Malfoy waves a pale hand at her in the waning sunlight, and treks over to where she is.

“No traces where I landed. And they don't seem to be here anyway,” he sighs when he reaches her, his breath a slight fog.

He holds a hand against his forehead, slanted over his eyes, as he surveys the endless, rolling hills around them. As if there was any sun to impede his eyesight.

Hermione rolls her eyes and casts the tracking spell while he casts a homenum revelio just in case.

“I have a residue,” she murmurs when his spells show no results. “But its weak. And I'm cold. Why is it cold here?”

Now it's Draco who rolls his eyes, snorting condescendingly. “Here, hold my hand.”

Hermione cups his fingers around her nose and breathes into it as the blonde reads out the coordinates, and then they're separating and Apparating once more; bodies hurtling through the void.

* * *

 

 

They jump four more times, to different places across the continent, until Hermione notices small patches of dried blood sitting on the leaves or grass or concrete of the places they visit. The patches become pools and then splatters that are always more fresh than the last, and Draco becomes more and more anxious with every time they jump to another random location and with every clue they find.

“Fuck!” he yells when they land directly into a bloodbath. “Fuck, Theo! Why couldn't you just wait for me, you git?”

Hermione feels like she should have been swearing like this throughout her school years when both her boys had gone off doing incredibly stupid things with no concern for their lives. But she hadn't lost her shit then and she won't do so now, so she smacks Draco’s arm, readies her wand and Apparates herself to the next location.

* * *

 

 

She slips when she lands next, and her hands splash onto something wet as she falls backward onto her bum. A frantic glance reassures her that it's not blood and the squelching around her fingers confirm that it is indeed a normal puddle of mud.

Lazy rain drizzles from the heavy, grey sky sporadically and Draco’s pop of Apparition is masked by a sudden roll of thunder, far out in the distance. He barely trips and that makes her grimace. Maybe he won't see the mud on her pants or her shirt.

“Why'd you decide to have a bath, Granger?” he grumbles, surveying the small muggle ghost town ahead of them. “In _mud_ no less.”

“Why not, I say,” Hermione glowers. “It’s where I belong apparently.”

The look Draco shoots her way indicates that he is _not_ interested in whatever game she's trying to play and that the idea should be aborted immediately and with great haste. Hermione huffs but she gives up on it anyway. It isn't relevant and they have bigger concerns. She's also sure she only brought it up because she's bitter she fell in it in the first place.

They trudge down the empty road that just runs by small, squat buildings that are as grey as the sky. Posters and pamphlets rustle as they toss around in the wind and glass window panes clatter in their frames. Overhead, the sky darkens.

“This is exactly the kind of ambiance you'd fight a werewolf in,” Hermione nods to herself.

Draco allows a look of confusion to grace his otherwise tense face.

“Somehow you never catch a Death Eater in a nice field of daisies, you know?” she goes on. “It's always a creepy alley or an… an abandoned building. Right?”

Draco doesn't reply. He kicks an empty can of beans across the road and scowls.

“Where is he?”

“Theo? Or Greyback?” Hermione ventures.

“Either one!”

She's saved by a loud crash and blast of sound from a nearby building that is so loud she has to close her eyes and clasp at her ears. Nothing prepares them for the side of an antique jeweller’s shop blowing out across the road; plaster and glass scattering around them. When she looks up Draco has his arms stretched out before her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, shielded by her riotous mass of hair. A haphazard shield shimmers in front of them both, blocking the worst of the explosion. Dust fills the wet air and a figure clambers out of the hole rent through the small unassuming shop.

“Duck!” Draco whispers, and they both drop to the ground under the cover of the dust cloud.

Their boots scratch and scrape against the tarmac but the figure is distracted.

It lumbers out of the building and Hermione recognizes the tall figure seconds after she notices that Draco is no longer by her side.

“Theo!” he cries angrily. “Theo you absolute bastard.”

She leaps to her feet behind him, voice stuck in her throat and warning dying on her tongue.

It's dangerous… they don't know the situation… Greyback is here…  _constant bloody vigilance_... it's _so_ dangerous...

And then Theo is tilting forward, knees buckling as his grip loosens and his head lolls forward almost lifelessly. Draco shouts in alarm but the sound is distant and warbled. She hears him panic hut she cant turn away from the sight in the gaping hole. Her whole world coalesces to a single point; the large, hulking figure silhouetted behind her friend.

Cold fear stills her heart for a moment.

Then it all happens so quickly.

Theo topples face first into the dirty road, nose cracking under his weight, and Draco dives toward him in response. The misshapen figure leaps, and Hermione can only watch in frozen horror as the blonde wizard is deftly knocked back and pressed into the ground under its weight. His head connects sharply against the tarmac but the figure doesn't pause to spend time over his prone body. Hermione tries to shake herself free of her stupor but then he's there, panting before her; muzzle leaking blood on to the dusty pavement.

His fur is matted and clumps of it hang loosely by a few hairs around several burns and open wounds. His eyes are bloodshot again, but they don't leave hers even as he stalks forward in slow, menacing strides. Yellowing teeth gleam under a sheen of red, and that long tongue licks a path from the creature’s nose down to its chin. Saliva drools and he makes no effort to pretend otherwise.

“Mudblood,” Greyback rumbles hoarsely, his voice seething with unrestrained, sadistic delight. “We meet again.”


	18. Bite the Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger, my dudes, but I had to chop that chapter in half or else you would've been reading for hours.  
> again, thanks for reading and commenting- you guys are my fuel <3
> 
> vjc, EnviedFable, VictoriaStation: hopefully this meets your expectations!
> 
> ashlee: tysm I'm glad you like it!
> 
> Dog8myhomework: hell yeah. no one is expelliarmus-ing themselves out of this.

There’s something to be said about staring certain death in the face and it's not entirely good or sensible really. Everything doesn’t slow down too terribly or whirl out of focus, but Hermione would be lying if she says she doesn’t feel ridiculously _giddy_.

Giddy enough to laugh at Greyback’s stupid wolf face that stinks of human blood and just bad hygiene really.

He’d knocked her back- sent her flying five feet from where she’d been standing. The asphalt had welcomed her with as much hostility as expected from hard-packed ground, and her shoulder had taken the brunt of the fall.

And now she lies there, smiling at the sky like a loon, waiting for Greyback’s ugly mug to eclipse her view of the gloomy, sullen clouds overhead.

Her lungs have atrophied and shrivelled up behind her heart; her limbs spazz as if they've been shocked by raw electricity; her reflexes feel sluggish even as she tears herself bodily away from the insane werewolf’s unhinged jaws that snap forward with barely any warning-

-and all that’s going through her mind are those pumped up opening seconds to _Spirit in the Sky_ , lifting her soul up and out of this cruddy situation and into limbo.

Later she’ll look back and shake her head, saying she doesn’t really remember how she twisted away at that last moment before Greyback’s teeth gnashed where she’d been glued to the road. She rolls away violently, forehead snapping against the ground. A sting shoots up through her shoulder and something shifts in one ankle, but Norman starts singing in her head, so she rolls and rolls and listens to the werewolf snarl overhead before leaping to her feet, the taste of blood on her teeth.

 

_When I die and they lay me to rest_

 

Her wand shakes in her grasp and she barely manages a _protego_ out of habit before the creature lunges again, claws slashing the air. His hulking form slips through the shield and she backs away, feet tripping over each other in her clouded haste.

Before, when she'd effectively neutralised the werewolf almost single-handedly, she'd been guided by liquid luck. But now all she has is hysteria and a wild soundtrack offered by a mind running on adrenaline- and it's _scary_.

Her heart beats loudly, in tune to the rhythm of the song in her head that leads her away. Back, back, away from the werewolf that’s trying to _eat her._

Away from her friends who lie unconscious on the ground.

Away from Draco who could help her if he wasn’t buggering _dead_ already!

 

_Gonna go to the place that's the best_

 

Something snaps loudly and she watches in icy horror as the werewolf shifts and twists until his face resembles that of a human- jaw lined with scraggly beard and eyes flint-hard and focused.

“Thought you got away did you?” he growls, nose twitching in irritation. “No matter. You will not walk away from this.”

Hermione rather liked him better when he spoke less.

She tells him as much and ducks out of the way when he bounds across the gap she’d put between them, howling in anger and bloodlust. The sound shakes her and she scampers backwards again, wand at the ready. His face restructures itself into that of an incensed lycanthrope as he gives chase, and then they’re running; him chasing after her heavily, large paws thudding against the road as she pelts ahead. She feels the rush of air before claws snag her clothing and she’s yanked backwards, stumbling. Warm blood oozes down her back and she feels the skin there tear open with slicing pain.

Her ankle protests the movement, but Hermione manages to twist on her heel and fire curses- _crucios-_ right into Fenrir’s chest.

“You think _those_ will stop me?” the creature snarls, laughter spilling from his transformed face.

She really, really hopes they will.

 

_When I lay me down to die_

_Goin' up to the spirit in the sky_

 

He doesn’t even pretend to dodge them, absorbing the crushing pain of the curse like one might take on a mild tickling charm.

Four more Cruciatus curses fly through the air in rapid succession before she throws herself behind a car parked by the side of the road; long abandoned, yet a sweet barrier to take advantage of. The red light of the Unforgivables glows as lightning slices through the overcast sky, illuminating the silhouette of her relentless attacker.

Greyback is unconcerned by her attempt at running. And at fighting. At resisting the inevitable.

“You can’t prevent this,” his voice drifts over as he evades her curses. “I will rip you limb from limb and feast on your-,”

Hermione grits her teeth and cuts off his macabre monologue with a resounding _reducto_ that splinters the tarmac; throwing up chunks of it into the air in tune to Greyback’s yelp of surprise.

 

_That's where I'm gonna go when I die_

 

The dust has barely settled when Greyback blunders through with a roar; slamming against the car with so much force that it rocks over precariously, threatening to topple over her. She manages to fire off a sharp Sectumsempra that clips the creature’s unshielded shoulder. The gashes that open are deep and weep red immediately, but Greyback only seethes with anger and pushes harder against the vehicle.

Hermione feels her heart stutter and she wrangles out the incantation for a Patronus with shaky hands.

“Get Harry!” she mutters frantically. “Get Harry and get help!”

Something shatters, scaring the glowing otter and making her jump to defend. Her spectral otter flinches and then disappears as glass rains down over her head. Fenrir’s right arm has punched straight through a window, and his sudden weight causes the poor Subaru to keel with a horrifying creaking sound. Hermione sucks in air through her teeth and kicks away from where she crouches on the ground, legs barely escaping the falling hunk of metal.

It screeches against the tarmac, horrifying nails-against-a-chalkboard as Greyback lands atop its side; crushing it under his hulking form. His wild yellow eyes seek her out and the murder in them makes her switch out her planned Crucios for the emerald curse she’d not been keen on unleashing.

 

 _When I die and they lay me to rest_ _  
_ _Gonna go to the place that's the best_

 

The incantation leaves her lips easily, far too easily, but Greyback just flips out of the way, twisting in the air to land on all fours. Easy. Too easy.

Swearing under her breath, Hermione casts as many curses as she can- chasing him down the road with every green flash of magic. The werewolf moves with a fluidity she hadn’t expected, however, and she grimaces as he evades every curse she sends his way. The _Avadas_ rebound off the road, kicking bits of asphalt and dirt into the air upon impact. Hermione scowls at his reflexes.

Of course, there had to be a way werewolves lived this long through a war against wizards armed with ranged attacks. And Fenrir Greyback was notorious for avoiding being captured by Aurors for years before this war even began. He isn't underestimating her now and she cannot do this alone. So she pulls back and circles her wand over her head thinking only about creating _some distance._ The Firestorm spell catches immediately, flaring up into a wall of angry red that crackles and  _burns_ in a perfect ring around her and the two injured wizards. The charred smell hits her nose instantly and she nearly gags at the stench of it, but she has people to check up on, so she turns on her heel and Apparates to where Draco lies.

 

_Prepare yourself you know it's a must_

_Gotta have a friend in Jesus_

 

There’s a small puddle of blood near his head but she can’t think about it, she _can't._  Tossing a frantic Avada over her shoulder, she drops to her knees and grabs his shirt, casting every healing and restorative charm she’d ever read about upon his person.

“Please, please, _please_ ," she whimpers. “Draco, please get _up_.”

The charms light up his whole body, highlighting his plethora of injuries just by falling over under Fenrir’s weight. Cracked ribs, a fractured elbow, split scalp, concussion...

An angry snarl heralds a sudden clap of thunder and she faintly hears Greback screaming from behind the curtain of fire that traps him outside.

“Mudblood!” he howls, and she doesn’t turn around, she just can’t. “You will regret toying with me you _bitch_.”

The fire rages on.

“I will _end_ you!” he snarls.

Hermione grabs at Draco’s hair and _begs_ him to wake up and get himself and Theo the fuck out of here as if words alone would will him awake.

 

_So you know that when you die_

 

Heavy rhythmic pounding alerts her to Greyback’s sudden movement and she twists with Malfoy in her arms; half prepared to Apparate them both despite the threat of splinching. But the werewolf is eager and practically salivating as he clears the cresting flames with a monumental leap, and Hermione is overwhelmed with the amount of disgust she feels in that moment.

“Leave us _alone!”_ she shrieks, futilely- the sky illuminating with luminous streaks of light as the storm grows nearer.

Greyback lands heavily, limbs refusing to quiver under his weight as he falls from his jump. His fur has singed in many places and the fire hadn't spared any visible skin. The flesh there is curling angrily into wicked scars and the smell is repugnant.

“The Malfoy brat, huh,” Fenrir grumbles as Hermione scrambles to shield him with her body.

He's angry now, and it's marginally more frightening than when he was mocking her.

“I'll leave that wimp for last.”

Hermione grits her teeth and leaps to her feet with curses on her tongue. But a sudden _wrenching_ sound cleaves through the air and it isn't thunder, isn't a spell. She glances frantically towards the car, the stupid broken car, and sees the fire that's claimed it whole and knows _exactly_ what's going to happen before it does _exactly_ that. Something pops- a clear and sharp sound- followed closely by an explosion that knocks them both clear off their feet.

  
_He's gonna recommend you_ _  
_ To the spirit in the sky

 

Hermione spins like a dummy in the air before crashing back to the ground; her limbs folding under her weight and her teeth clicking painfully against each other. Her head swims when she rolls neatly onto her knees, trying to stagger back to her feet despite the loud ringing in her ears. Her vision swims disconcertingly, her stomach threatening an upheaval, and she's lucky that Greyback was so near the explosion as well because she can't convince her body to coordinate itself for the life of her.

Draco lies dangerously close to the now smouldering wreckage of the car and Hermione uses all the control she has left to scramble over and try and pull his limp form away from the fire. He groans as she drags his body across the tarmac and she's so, so glad he's capable of protesting her actions that she nearly misses the werewolf clamber to his limbs before them.

Hand darting for a wand that isn't by her side, she let's go of Draco only to realise that she doesn't have a weapon any longer. Its rolled off somewhere during the explosion, and she frantically pulls on whatever magic she can to cast a wandless _Incendio_ towards Fenrir, to keep him away. The pillar of fire forces him back a few steps, but it's a sudden flare of purple- arcing over her head like lightning- that truly knocks him down. The unknown curse hits hard and Greyback howls, taking a knee in pain as he staggers under its effects. His body spasms and his limbs shake uncontrollably.

Hermione gasps, turning to watch as a blurry figure rushes over to where she sits in the ring of steadily burning fire. The flames part for him, and she immediately knows who it is.

Knows who’s capable of cleaving a path through a Firestorm spell.

“Harry!” she smiles, vision fuzzy but not betraying her gut instinct.

“Fucking hell,” is all he says in reply, wand trained on Greyback who's slouching on the ground. Her dear sweet friend is frazzled and panting; hair wild and wand clenched so tightly it might break. He takes in Draco and Theo’s limp bodies with wide eyes before glancing over to Hermione.

“Fuck,” he says again. “Please tell me they’re not dead.”

It makes her laugh, stupidly and slightly maniacally. “No, thank God. I’m alright too.”

“You’re bleeding,” Harry sighs.

His concern makes her smile more, propelling her to pluck Draco’s wand from his small holster and whirl around to face the cursed werewolf with renewed energy.

“You should have heard what he said he was going to do,” she mutters, training the harshest Crucio she can upon his person, watching as his body constricts and begins to shift between his human form and that of the destroyed lycanthrope. The sight sickens her and she almost lets go of the curse, unable to watch him diminish before her eyes. Greyback whines in pain and the hatred in her body runs out quickly- replaced by a cold sinking feeling that claws at her insides.

“We need him, don't we?” she asks quickly, averting her gaze and sinking to her knees as the curse breaks off. “We need him alive.”

The ringing in her ears threatens to overwhelm her.

Harry’s face looks tight. “I don't think so.”

She snaps her head up to peer at him, taken aback by the fury etched into Harry’s features as he Stuns Greyback twice when her curse begins to wear off. He looks cold then, _detached_ , and she knows he's already blaming himself for the pain she, Lupin and the two Slytherins had had to go through. It's stupid, but that's Harry. Stupidly heroic.

“Good,” she says, with determination she doesn't have.

She needs to clear Harry of that guilt- she can kill one more person. What's that compared to tens of others? Nothing. She can do it.

So she closes her eyes and struggles to her feet; arm shaking involuntarily as she raises it to aim. Something warm closes around her wrist and her eyes fly open to be caught in the knowing emerald gaze she’d sort of expected.

“Don’t,” Harry says uncomfortably, huffing hair out of his eyes.

“I can do it,” she protests feebly.

“You’ll have to mean it. For the curse to work… you have to really mean it.”

“I’ve killed people before,” she scoffs, throat dry. “He deserves it.”

“You don’t. You don’t need that on your conscience. Let’s just Stun him again.”

At that, Hermione wants to sit down again and cry, but she rallies herself and breaks out a wry grin. “This is usually the part where Draco turns up and kills the person for me.”

Harry’s look of utter confusion makes her laugh weakly and maybe that’s where she gets the energy to aim Draco’s wand at Fenrir Greyback’s chest and utter the words that make her heart wrench imperceptibly and his stutter and stop entirely.

For good

 

_Never been a sinner I never sinned_

_I got a friend in Jesus_

 

* * *

 

It’s raining when they get to Malfoy’s safe house; water pelting down so furiously that the usually manicured garden is a lawless marshland that threatens to steal their shoes with every soggy step they take. Harry buckles once or twice under Draco’s weight and Hermione reminds him _again_ that levitating people who are unconscious does not make them puke in their own mouth.

“Have you ever been levitated?” he groans, shifting Draco’s arm away from his face. “No. So kindly shut up.”

She groans and concentrates on the charm that's holding Nott aloft, but her energy is dimming and her steps grow slower and weaker. They should have Apparated closer to the house.

Luckily, Ron is pacing agitatedly on the porch and when they’re close enough to see through the sheets of rain, he shouts and rushes outside to help. He keeps shouting something that no one hears over the sound of the deafening shower, and Hermione has barely enough energy left to drag herself to the first step leading into the house, let alone to decipher Ron’s bellows. He wrangles Nott’s body out of the air and she barely notices. Her eyes track her feet and she watches as she places one muddy foot onto the pristine white wood of the porch and promptly keels over. Her face hits the floor and pain lances up her cheekbone quite viciously, but sleep steals her mind away and the darkness blankets her cold, wet, bleeding and bruised body better than any drug could.

 

_Oh set me up with the spirit in the sky_

_That's where I'm gonna go when I die_

 

* * *

When she wakes up, thunder roars as loud as the dragon they’d rescued from Gringotts and she has to take several gulping breaths to realise she is no longer in the stifling caverns, dressed as Bellatrix the mad witch.

“Calm down, calm down,” she breathes, rubbing a hand at her chest.

The tremors slowly cease and the pains ailing her body slowly return to pound away dully at her senses. Her knees and elbows ache, her ankle is swollen and her face feels like it’s been Bludgered. Nonetheless, Hermione slips her feet into the soft slippers by the bed she’s lying in and shuffles to the door. A clean robe swishes around her frame and she’s suddenly so fucking grateful she’d made friends with a rich vigilante, no matter how much of an asshole he could be. There is something to be said about recuperating in comfort rather than in more agony.

Loud, angry voices carry to the corridor in which she stands. Or rather one loud angry voice and two softer, rather annoyed ones that murmur in hushed tones as the other rumbles like the thunder overhead. She already knows who that is.

Draco paces the plush sitting room with long, restless strides. His whole torso is bare, except for the wrappings that cover his ribcage that are neat and only _barely_ blotched with fresh blood. His hair is ridiculous in the way it almost stands on end, and it makes her want to reach up and brush it out of his eyes- maybe kiss his reddening ears as she does so. The sudden warm thought isn’t wholly unwelcome, but it is countered by the bruises that have flowered across his cheekbones and nose. One of his arms are burned and his Dark Mark is on display for all to see, but somehow Ron and Harry seem to pay it no mind. They ignore the blonde’s rants, playing chess by the roaring fireplace with a priceless looking set of marble pieces. Even from where she stands, half shrouded by shadow in the entrance, Hermione can tell that Ron is winning rather severely.

The whole scene, coupled with the Victorian drapery and wingback armchairs, is bizarre. Like a renaissance painting. But it makes her smile.

“I can’t believe she stayed!” Draco says suddenly, throwing his arms in the air with such comical vigour that Ron instinctively ducks even though he’s a safe distance away. “What a _buggering idiot-_ who stays to fight a werewolf on their own?! And one like Greyback, no less-,”

“It’s _Hermione_ , Malfoy,” Harry says tiredly, lifting a pawn and setting it back down quickly when Ron narrows his eyes. “Of course she’d stay.”

“And do what? Die?” Draco keeps ranting, clearly upset. “What’s the use of staying to _die_?”

“Oi,” Ron interrupts with a sigh. “Would you rather her leave you and that arse Nott to be eaten then?”

Malfoy whirls upon the redhead at that, pinning him with a look of violent incredulity. “Yes! Of course! Are you dense? Wouldn’t you?”

Ron doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that so he stays silent, turning to advance his bishop a few paces with a bewildered glance at Harry.

“Well, if you’re friends with Hermione, she won’t leave you to suffer,” the latter says carefully, absorbed by Ron’s move.

Draco stiffens suddenly, his whole body jerking as if rejecting Harry’s statement.

“We’re not fucking _friends_ ,” he growls, voice low and cutting and _hurtful,_ and Hermione nearly smacks herself for standing there and thinking about hugging him- the _arsehole_.

“Well that’s great then,” she snaps bitterly, shifting away from the doorpost to move into the light.

“‘Mione!” Harry exclaims, but its Ron who gets to her first, enveloping her in such a big hug that she has to grit her teeth to prevent sounds of pain alerting him to her distress. Harry makes it over next and he pats her massive hair affectionately.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Ron mumbles in her ear.

“Yeah, you looked like death when I saw you out there,” Harry chuckles, his voice holding very little levity.

She squeezes his shoulder with a free hand and beckons him into the hug. “I feel much less like the Reaper thanks to you.”

Harry chuckles dryly and Ron doesn’t seem to get it but she hugs them both and revels in the uncomfortable look Draco shoots her way.

“You shouldn't be walking,” he mutters, eyes narrowed.

She just ignores him and sinks into a futon that's close to the chess game the boys are playing.

“Nice advance, Ron,” she says instead, beaming at him.

The redhead holds a finger to his lips and winks while Harry groans, rubbing at his eyes.

“I'm sure there are no bloody _tactics_ involved in this game and you’re all just leading me on,” he sighs, defeated. “This is betrayal at its finest.”

Ron just cackles and leans back in his overly glamourous armchair.

“How's Nott doing?” Hermione manages to ask weakly, avoiding Malfoy’s searching gaze.

He looks confused and kind of hurt but she doesn't want to unpack that expression and the thoughts that would come with it.

Ron's expression darkens slightly and he scoffs, indicating for Harry to speak.

“Nott’s fine, but he needs extra care. The healer has been brewing blood replenishing potions but he’s just one guy and there's only so much he can do. It's only been a day. He might be better in a week.”

“That's good,” Hermione nods. “Don’t you two have to leave soon?”

Harry winces. “Yeah… Lupin got an earful from Mrs Malfoy in the form of a strongly worded letter.”

“Where is Lupin anyway?” she asks.

“He went back to the Order so we could stay behind,” Harry explains.

“He said he’ll tell Kingsley that the two of us went off in search of Greyback, so when we return tomorrow we’ll just say we had to kill ourselves,” Ron adds.

“You didn’t have to stay behind,” Hermione says, smiling.

“Someone had to save you three,” Harry grins. “And we couldn’t leave until either you or Nott woke up. Just to be sure.”

“Can’t believe we trusted him,” Ron mumbles with acidity in his voice.

Draco grunts suddenly and lands heavily on the side of the futon that she isn't occupying, his warmth hitting her body almost immediately. “He did nothing wrong by you, Weasley. Don't hold the game against him.”

“He lied to us,” Ron upholds, squinting at his chess pieces.

Harry sighs. “Everyone’s lying to us.”

His eyes cut sideways to meet Hermione’s and she jerks violently when their gazes catch. She frowns at him but he looks away with a small smile. The suspicious glance makes her heart roar in her chest but Harry only moves back to his game and makes a dumb mistake by placing his bishop right in the path of Ron's knight.

As the redhead crows in victory and snatches Harry's black piece, Draco sidles closer and clears his throat quietly.

“Thanks for covering our arses back there,” he says in a low tone. “And for bringing Theo back alive.”

Hermione wants to slap him but she clenches her jaw and nods. “It was generous of me, I know.”

Draco sighs through his teeth. “Why are you angry at me?”

“I'm not bloody angry,” she snaps in a heated whisper.

“Sure you aren't,” the blonde beside her scoffs, leaning back against the sofa.

His knee brushes hers and she moves away from the contact.

“I don't have _leprosy_ , Granger- I just busted my ribs,” he grumbles, squinting his eyes at her.

“I just don't want to get my  _germs_ on your pristine leg,” she says snidely.

Draco stiffens. “If you're trying to pretend like I give a shit about that tripe then I suggest you stop because I am not above hexing you, love.”

Hermione scowls at that, finally turning to face his annoyed face. “Don't call me that. I thought we _weren't fucking_ _friends_?”

The wizard lets his eyebrows rise. “That's what this is about?”

“What else?” Hermione hisses back, embarrassed that she even cares.

Draco looks more annoyed somehow- his eyes narrowing into steel grey slits. “You're the one that didn't want your friends to know that we are… _acquainted_. You wanted this. Not me.”

Hermione pauses, lips dry and throat parched. “I did, didn't I?”

“Stupid witch,” Draco mutters. “Absolutely crazy.  I don't know what my mother sees in you.”

He grumbles to himself, picking at the bandages on his torso in irritation. Hermione, on the other hand, has to pinch herself to prevent a gigantic blush. She really had gone off about nothing.

Draco had had to say those words because something had prompted him. Harry had called them friends, hadn't he? She wonders why. And then she wonders if that has anything to do with the _look_ he’d given her.

 

* * *

_When I die and they lay me to rest_

_I'm gonna go to the place that’s the best_

_Go to the place that's the best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song: Spirit in the Sky, by Norman Greenbaum.  
> give it a listen. It's ridiculous for a fight scene and that's exactly what this fic is. ridiculous.  
> (without even trying, how does she do it?)


	19. Ring a Bell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is a lot of talking and very much overdue dramione interaction *shrugs*  
> Thanks for reading and commenting as always! Your feedback and love always helps<3 
> 
> Karma+Cookie: Nice catch! I'm surprised it was actually noticed 
> 
> Vjc: Aaah I hope your exam went well!! Yes, Draco is a precious meanbean who needs love and friends 
> 
> Ditte3: yeah silly Hermione. They need to label themselves already damnit 
> 
> EnviedFable: tysm!!
> 
> Rc: aw man you're too sweet <3 hope you like the rest!
> 
> I dedicate this chapter and yummy dramione goodness to all y'all reading rn

Harry wakes early to catch her alone in the kitchenette, drinking tea out of the dainty china teacup Draco had allowed her to use. He smiles, ignoring her look of concern, and takes a seat across from her.

“You feeling okay?” he asks.

Hermione takes a huge gulp of bitter tea and winces. She hadn't been able to find the sugar and since no one was awake she'd just started drinking it like this. Sweetening charms were disgusting anyway.

“I'm fine,” she shrugs, plastering on a smile.

Harry shakes his head. “You don't have to pretend you know. Not around me. At least I hope you don't think that you have to.”

He slouches a little in his seat and she immediately feels bad. But there's nothing she can do or say to make that go away.

“Are you leaving today?” she asks instead, sipping more woefully unsweetened tea.

Harry throws her a glance of concern. “So eager for us to go?”

Hermione sputters; tea dribbling from her mouth in her sudden shock. “No! Harry- _no_ not at all-,”

“Aren't you forgetting something?” the wizard laughs, handing her a napkin and a thin, long object that thrums when her fingers make contact with it.

“My wand!” she yelps, bursting out of her chair. “You got my wand back! How…?”

Her friend chuckles lowly, cheeks colouring from the praise. “It wasn't that hard. I used a Point Me to find you that day and I recognised the town. We had to be stationed there a few years back to intercept new recruits from Bulgaria. Long story. Anyway, I went there last night after everyone was asleep and found it. I'm sorry we forgot it in the first place.”

“Oh, Harry you _angel,_ ” Hermione cries, clutching her wand to her chest. “How will I ever thank you enough?”

Harry clears his throat awkwardly. “Maybe you can be honest with me?”

“W-what?”

“I didn't mean to invade your privacy- I was just trying to help,” he ploughs on quickly, eyes averted. “But now since I've seen it, I can't _unsee_ it… and just… please explain.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione stammers, throat dry as she watches Harry reach into a pocket and place something small and shiny upon the table between them.

The ring.

The _fucking_ Malfoy ring.

“Where did you-,” she begins, heart slowly beginning to race behind her rib.

“I found it in your pocket when I changed you-,”

“You _what?!”_ she shrieks, with lack of something better to respond to.

“Someone had to change you out of your ruined clothes and into that robe!” Harry explains like as if it's obvious. “Ron helped Draco and the healer took care of Nott first, since he had the worst of it, before healing you two up as well. It wasn't fun for me either- you were really heavy to move around.”

“You removed them physically?” Hermione frowns.

“Yeah, why? I didn't want to cut them up, that would be rude.”

“You could have just Vanished them, Harry,” she sighs.

His face registers surprise, but then he squints at her and huffs moodily. “Stop deflecting. Tell me about the ring.”

“It's not what you think-,”

“Are… are you engaged to Malfoy, ‘Mione?” he asks dejectedly, looking up to her horrified face.

Wait.

“ _What_?”

“I don't know, I mean, I'm mostly concerned why you didn't want to tell any of us. Did you speak to Ginny at least? Or is this all because we pushed you to associate him? Did we do this? Are you _stuck_ in a relationship? Did he trap you?”

Hermione has to wrangle with her stomach and heart to croak out a few words; her body is just that confused with the sudden turn of events. Damn Harry’s overactive perceptiveness.

“I'm not… we're not…,”

“Please don't lie to me, ‘Mione,” Harry pleads, closing his eyes. “I'm just asking. I'm not mad. I'm just… sad, maybe. I don't know. I feel like I'm losing all of you. And Ginny. Aren't we best friends? Why couldn't you tell me?”

Hermione groans, placing a hand at her heart to still it's riotous beating enough to form a helpful sentence.

“Because we aren't _married_ , Harry,” she wheezes. “We're not married, not engaged to be married, and not even thinking of being married. We're not even _together_. Don't be ridiculous!”

Harry looks unimpressed. “You have his _ring._ His _family ring_ with his Pureblood _family crest_ that weighs a ton because it's probably a _priceless family heirloom._ It's also probably a _signet_ or something fancy like that.”

Hermione winces. “It's really not like that at all.”

She can tell her attempts to waive his suspicion are weak because Harry looks severely underwhelmed at them.

Nonetheless, he relents with a sigh. “Then what is it?”

“It was a protean charm. Charmed so I could know when to meet him. He gave it _after_ we all agreed that I should agree to help with Nott senior so he could contact me to exchange information. That's _all_ ,” she says with as much finality as she can muster.

A small _edit_ on the details but more or less the whole truth.

“That's it?” Harry confirms dubiously.

“Yeah,” she nods back enthusiastically. “And I only ever used it once so it's not a big deal at all.”

She chuckles afterwards,for good measure, fixing a wry smile onto her face.

Harry frowns even more, eyes glued to the offending ring sat upon the table.

“Wait, let me get this straight. He gave you a family heirloom to use as a protean charm? For one time only?”

Hermione gulps. “I guess. He couldn't find anything else at the time.”

Harry scoffs. “Sure. And then you just kept it?”

“I… guess. Yeah. I thought he might use it again for something important. Turns out he didn't need to.”

“Oh, he did,” Harry snorts.

“I- what? No, he didn't. I swear Harry, he only called one time!”

“It's a Pureblood family heirloom, ‘Mione. These things are heavily charmed to keep the wearer safe and protected in their marriage. Ginny’s aunt nearly made us use these, but Gin declined because she didn't want to get alerted every time I was in danger.”

“They can do that?” Hermione mutters weakly, head swimming.

“Any basic Pureblood family ring can, from what Gin told me. And from a family as old as the Malfoys, I'll give anything to bet that this has been tracking you and saving you from a lot of shit.”

“That's _preposterous_ ,” Hermione breathes.

“That's what I thought,” Harry sighs heavily, shoving his glasses into his hair so he can rub at his eyelids. “I haven't been able to check the ring explicitly and I didn't want to do that before talking to you, but didn't you wonder why Malfoy got to Grimmauld place the _exact_ moment we decided to go out into mob?”

“He must have heard about the siege,” Hermione explains defensively, drawing away from Harry and crossing her arms. “He _does_ have spies everywhere. Nott might have told him. Also, Greyback was an important target to them so it was sensible for him to drop by, really.”

Harry nods, accepting this factor almost as if he'd considered it already. “True. But we were fighting the mob all _day_ from inside the wards. He didn't swoop in to help until _you_ went outside our protective barrier and into the heart of the violence.”

Hermione lets this sit in the silence of the room, her stomach threatening to send back all the tea she’d drunk.

“And then when I came to help you with Greyback,” Harry says thoughtfully. “You said something very peculiar. You said that Draco would usually show up at moments like those to kill people for you. Surely that meant he's done this a few times already? Swooped in to _save you_ in his own weird way.”

“I didn't...,” Hermione pauses to lick her suddenly dry lips. “I never thought of it that way.”

“So he has,” Harry concludes sagely. “I may be wrong then.”

Hermione frowns, already feeling so far out of her depth. She has never been so whiplashed by confusion in her life. She's always the one who plans ahead and tries to control every aspect of every situation, but it has been too long since she's worked with Harry. Dare she say it, but she had forgotten how perceptive her best friend could be, and she was now paying the heavy price.

“What? I thought all this was to prove you were right?” she says, stifling a groan.

“My thinking was right, but my conclusion was not,” he corrects with a shrug. “You aren't married and you aren't together. You seem too confused for that to be true and you're not that good of an actress, no offence.”

“None taken.”

“But he definitely likes you. Draco bloody Malfoy likes you, ‘Mione.”

And in that moment she has to physically restrain herself from thinking about how _she knows that already_ , but Harry is an Occlumens so she isn't really in any danger of him reading her mind. What she really has to control is her _face_ because he is nothing if not an eerily accurate reader of emotions and she is a hopeless, hopeless liar.

“You knew that,” he observes gently, watching her expressions shift.

Hermione lets out a sharp exhalation of air in defeat. “I hadn't delved that deep into it actually. Everything you said surprised me.”

“You hadn't thought about it? At all?” Harry asks in askance. “You? Hermione Granger?”

She groans and hides her eyes behind a palm. “It was a scary prospect Harry. I didn't know what to think and frankly, I didn't want to think about it at all.”

“Because you like him back?” he asks casually and Hermione jerks so hard her chair gives way and she crashes to the floor.

“I'm not an idiot,” Harry sighs from where he sits, his voice floating above her. “And anyway, anyone with two eyes and half a brain could see that something's going on.”

“Ron didn't notice,” she grumbles, head ringing from the harsh contact with the floor.

Harry chuckles. “What I said still stands.”

Hermione just glares at the ceiling and lets the sharp pain from the fall consume her. “Sod off.”

At this he laughs and rises from his seat to come around and help her up. “You're doing an awful job of pretending like you don't like him.”

“I don't,” she grunts as he pulls her to her feet.

“You love him?!” Harry yelps, letting go of her arm in surprise.

Hermione thumps back to the ground and bites down on a scream. “Urgh, no I was just deflecting. Oh my _God_ , Harry-,”

“Oh your God, Potter,” a voice intones, cutting smoothly into their conversation. “What have you gotten in to now?”

Draco stands in the room and frowns, dressed in an old Slytherin sweatshirt and casual trousers. His eyes narrow further as he watches Harry dumbly clutch at the empty air beside him.

“What are you doing?”

“Hermione fell,” Harry explains awkwardly, just as the witch clambers up from below the table, her hair a mess and face flushing.

A flash of something akin to displeasure crosses his features, but Draco covers it quickly with a light snort and rolls his eyes. “That's exactly how you treat recovering patients, Potter. You get an O, for outstandingly _awful_ bedside manner.”

Harry scowls, hand darting to grab for the ring that's sitting on the table in the most conspicuous way. “Whatever, ferret. We're leaving today so you can tell your mother to calm her soul. She's going out of her mind, no doubt, worrying about our grubby hands being on her furniture.”

Draco narrow his eyes at Harry’s jerky movements. “Well, you did break one of her kitchen chairs.”

Hermione ignores the pointed remark and repairs the fallen chair with a simple charm.

“It will never be the same,” the blonde mutters, turning away to rifle through the small cupboards that are suspended along the wall.

Harry shoots her a meaningful glance when Draco’s back is turned, and hands over the ring quickly, patting her hand when it closes over the heavy object.

“Be careful,” he mutters. “But also, if he does anything embarrassing for you, make sure to either take a picture or get a good memory for us to see.”

With that he gives her a quick peck on her cheek and heads out the room in search of Ron.

With a jolt, Hermione realises that they hadn't been able to discuss his feelings about Lupin’s betrayal of sorts, or talk about his problems with Ginny at all, but he's already out the kitchen before she can open her mouth. She stays silent and watches him go, noticing Draco frown at his exit with a barely concealed look of annoyance.

“You cannot punch Harry,” she says sternly, correctly interpreting his expression.

“That's not fair,” he says stubbornly, smacking a cupboard shut. “He can't just _kiss_ you-,”

“He can,” she upholds. “He’s my friend and he loves me. And he's _married_.”

Draco snorts. “And that's never stopped anyone before.”

Hermione turns to glower at him, annoyed that his stupid ring had put her through so much at just five in the morning, and that he had been present for _none_ of it.

“Shut up,” she snaps, draining the last of her tea.

“Really? What is it now, woman?” he groans, running a hand across his face, dramatically. “You're always bloody pissed about something-,”

“Is the ring you gave me charmed?” she blurts out, feeling the weight of it in her pocket.

Draco stiffens and therein lies her answer. But she waits till he turns to face her, watching his face as he shuffles through potential answers in his head.

“Maybe,” he says carefully.

Hermione looks for something to throw at him.

“But they're all harmless really,” Draco chuckles wryly, already turning back to complete his breakfast. “Nothing to worry about.”

Finding nothing that isn't valuable, she settles with flicking a hex at his head, watching as the magic shocks his hair into standing straight up.

“What the bloody _hell_?” Draco jumps, whirling to face her.

“I asked you a _question,_ Malfoy,” she grits out, ignoring his rightfully shocked expression.

“So you hexed me into answering you?” Draco snaps back. “And my hair! It's my best feature, woman, do you want me to be bald?”

“I want you to be _honest_ -,”

“Ugh. Boring,” he announces, settling into a scowl.

“Draco Malfoy, so help me God,” Hermione growls in return, clutching her wand with a thinly veiled threat.

“I doubt he will,” he scoffs. “From what I gather, religion doesn't take kindly to witchcraft.”

“You are the absolute worst!” she seethes, voice cracking midway out of sheer annoyance. “I can't stand how you evade every single bloody intrusive question I have.”

Draco looks unmoved, or even if he is in the slightest, he doesn't let it show. “I'm Slytherin love, what did you expect? A sad, droning soliloquy maybe? _This fellow of exceeding honesty_.”

Its through an iron will forged during Harry's confrontation that she ignores the quote and blunders on with her displeasure at him.

“Don't blame it on _houses_ , for Merlin's sake,” she complains. “I know you're smarter than to believe a _hat_ could compress us down to a few basic qualities and rule us to them, magic or no.”

Draco smirks, maybe a bit proudly, and then he starts moving. She backs up instinctively but his longer strides catch up to her from around the table, hand reaching up to trace a finger on a path across her cheekbones and nose.

“You get so red when you're mad at me,” he says as an observation, eyes intent on what he sees on her face.

She fights against another flush and scowls.

“And your expressions are very cute,” he nods in approval.

“They're meant to be _angry_ , you twit,” she protests, trying to step away.

Draco just laughs and lets his palms brush down her arms before settling surreptitiously on her waist, fingers slipping under her sweater to sit flush against her skin. The flush breaks free, taking over her face, and she stops pretending to evade him.

“It's still cute,” he shrugs. “You'll have to try harder.”

“I could do my best Snape impression,” she glowers, earning a gagging sound from the blonde.

“Please never bring him up when we're together,” he groans. “Or ever, actually.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Stop being dramatic, Malfoy. And don't even _think_ that we’re done with that conversation.”

He smirks and runs his hands up higher, thumbs trailing over her ribcage until they graze lightly against the undersides of her bra. “I look forward to you trying your best to drag answers out of me. Again.”

“It's like pulling teeth,” she admits with a scowl.

Draco looks mildly alarmed. “Why would you know what _that's_ like?”

“Muggle saying,” she laughs, ignoring his hands as they return to caressing her sides.

“That's a very barbaric practise,” Draco frowns, subconsciously running his tongue over his teeth.

“Yeah well, they don't do it for fun,” Hermione rolls her eyes. “Not everyone can charm their teeth to look good and be healthy.”

He slips a hand out from under her lumpy sweater then, raising a thumb to brush at her lips curiously.

“What?” she mumbles.

“Did they pull your teeth out too? When you were little?”

He looks horrified and curious in a way that's more wary for her answer than excited.

Hermione shakes her head. “That's… no. They did it another way. Something to straighten it out, that's all.”

Draco looks unconvinced but he gently runs his thumbs against her lips again, as if to convey pity for what her mouth had had to go through. It makes her laugh and cringe at the same time.

“You still look scared,” she chuckles. “What's wrong?”

“Would Muggles remove my teeth?”

“No,” she says grumpily. “You… you have rather good teeth.”

“Rather good?” he frowns.

“Very good,” Hermione allows, scowling again.

“I thought as much,” he smiles.

She feels like her scowl might become permanently attached to her face at this rate. “Prat.”

“Ouch! Don't slap me, woman. It's my house, I should throw you out for that.”

“Oh? And who are you going to snog then? Nott?”

“Don't be disgusting. Blaise is much prettier. And it's rather bold of you to assume I wanted to snog _you_.”

“Is that so? Then why's your hand trying desperately to undo my bra?” she giggles. “And failing spectacularly, might I add.”

“Stupid Muggle things,” he grumbles petulantly. “Why would anyone want to lock their breasts away?”

“You've never had any, you wouldn't understand.”

Draco opens his mouth to respond, but is distracted by a thumping sound that echoes through the cottage, heralding Ron's arrival into the foyer from his room upstairs.

“Harry?” her friend calls loudly. “Ready to go?”

Hermione glances at Draco then, feeling rather disquieted.

“I'll go say bye,” she says.

He shrugs, turning back to making his morning meal. She absently wonders where his house elves are.

* * *

 

 

The boys leave without much fanfare, except for when Ron huffs moodily about Nott’s betrayal of their trust. Harry doesn't seem to care about it much, but Hermione notices the hurt that lurks under the redhead’s harsh words and reminds herself to push Theo into patching up whatever relationship they had when he wakes up.

She visits the Pureblood’s room after Draco disappears into the library with two unfamiliar Americans. He tells her to have lunch on her own, so she takes it up to the room where Nott rests in.

Theo looks pale and entirely too skinny, his many potions littering the drawers and cabinets that clutter the room. The healer has left strict instructions for Draco to follow regarding Nott’s healing. A set of tricky spells to cast and the order in which he should imbibe the awful smelling potions are all written in neat, flowing script.

Hermione follows the instructions and begins to freshen up the room after completing them. She opens the window despite the cloudy sky outside, brightens the room with a quiet charm and spells it to smell crisper. She cleans away the empty vials and decanters, piling them for future use if possible. Then she spells Theo's clothes clean, obsessing over as many details as she can.

Theo’s smooth, tan skin is marred by fresh scars from both Greyback’s attacks and shrapnel from the explosion. It makes her wince.

She’d been wholly prepared to Apparate away with Draco before the car had blown up, forgetting about Nott entirely. In her panic and fear she had almost decided to leave him behind.

There was no way anyone would know about it, but the thought gnaws at her so she stays in his room till dusk falls and the healer returns from his errands.

* * *

 

 

Draco finds her when darkness has stolen across the fields and the cottage stands still in the silence of the night.

He steps into her room and pauses in the doorway, glancing at her as she finishes pulling a flimsy chemise over her head. The dress flows down to her legs and Draco’s eyes track the movement of the material, his gaze dragging along every inch of her skin. But his eyes look distracted and his shoulders hunch in an emotion she has yet to puzzle out.

He's across the room in seconds, kicking the door shut behind him before scooping her into his arms.

Draco walks them both backward until she hits a wall, eyes caught in his heady gaze. Hermione feels his arms unlock from around her to run his palms gently up her sides. She shudders and he gives in, grabbing roughly at her face and dropping his head low to capture her lips with his.

The warmth of his breath hitting her nose sends a happy shiver down her spine and she nearly forgets all the aches in her body as his large palms cup her cheeks. She lets her body melt into his frame, humming into the kiss as she tugs gently at the hem of the faded green sweatshirt he's still wearing. The small upturn of his lips at her reciprocation is enough to make her insides flutter and then he’s pressing her against the wall, hands grabbing at her thighs to hoist her up against his body.

Hermione wraps her legs around his waist instinctively and bites down on an embarrassingly wild moan that bubbles up the second her core rubs against his evident arousal.

It's been fucking _ages_ since anyone's gone anywhere near that part of her body, and the stimulation is almost overwhelming to her senses. Draco doesn't seem to notice, however, his hands cupping her arse while he nips at her mouth as if he's attempting to break a record of how many quiet moans he can elicit from Hermione Granger just by snogging her.

If she could think she'd conclude that he's set a new record himself- he’s just that fucking _brilliant_ at it- but she can't so she just clings on to him and tries to give as good as she's getting.That is until he stops abruptly and presses his forehead to hers, his panting breaths encouraging her heart to slow down until they're synced to a calmer rhythm.

“What?” she gasps groggily, blinking away the urge to lick at his neck like a cat. “What happened?”

Draco presses his eyes shut. “I thought- I'm so sorry Hermione.”

The blissful haze evaporates instantly, replaced with a roiling uncertainty.

“About what?” she mutters anxiously, twisting her fingers into the fine hair at the nape of his neck. “What's wrong?”

“I just,” he begins, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. “I couldn't help you at all. I was such an idiot and you nearly died. We went to save Nott and you ended up having to keep me safe as well. _Fuck_ , I am so, so sorry- you could have died and it would have been _all my fault_.”

And here she thought he didn't want to kiss her anymore. She needed to fix her priorities.

“Draco, of course not,” she rushes out in one long breath of relief. “You were nervous to help your friend. It happens. Things like this happen all the time.”

“I can't afford to make mistakes now, can I? Especially if it puts people at risk,” he groans, pulling her body closer to his as if to ensure she wasn't going to disappear. “Especially you.”

She wants to laugh at the irony of him coming to that conclusion but she can't. All she can do is feel the shaking in his shoulders and the way in which his voice sounds wrangled and torn instead of his usual oozing confidence. She can feel his fear and she feels scared as well. Scared because he blames himself for her injuries. Scared because Draco Malfoy wants to protect her almost as much as Harry does.

Scared because she doesn't know what that fucking means.

“Its okay,” she croaks, running a hand through his hair, and Draco leans into her so his head is pressed into her neck and his panting breaths seep through the soft nightdress.

She clutches his head to her and soothes his hair, feeling sad and confused and upset and _sad_.

“It's alright, Draco,” she murmurs. “Okay? I'm alright. You're alright. We're all alright.”

“I don't want to lose you,” he mumbles, voice muffled by her skin. “I've failed my family, my friends, my teachers and myself- but I can't fail you.”

Her heart skips eight beats and settles into a lopsided run that he can most probably hear, given that his face is squished against her chest.

“You won't,” she promises hollowly.

Draco lifts his head to squint at her then, hair ruffled and face flushed from snogging and then introspecting. “You don't know how many times I've feared for your life.”

 _Oof_. If that wasn't a running theme.

“Is that why you gave me your rin- _signet_?” she mutters, avoiding his heavy gaze.

His mouth works until he settles on sighing and coming out with the truth.

“It was honestly the only thing I had with me when I decided to give you a protean charm- I hadn't planned on giving you anything that day itself,” he explains, voice low. “But I _had_ previously arranged for the ring to be adjusted to suit you.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione breathes quietly.

“It’s an ancient Pureblood heirloom, Granger, so of course it wouldn't accept being placed into the hands of anyone that isn't a Pureblood themselves. I had to get those charms changed.”

“That can't have been easy,” she frowns.

Draco chuckles at that, leaning forward to brush her nose with his. “It wasn't. Over a hundred years of tradition, broken for you.”

 _Erk_.

“Why?” she croaks.

“Why not?” he counters simply.

Hermione feels the blood beginning to drain from her legs, making them tingle.

“Please just give me straight answers,” she mutters, squirming in his hold.

Draco sets her down gently, unwinding her legs from his waist and lowering her until her toes brush the floor.

“I told you we needed you in our plans, Hermione,” he grunts as she relieves him of her weight. “We needed you way before you even knew we were out there.”

Her eyes widen at the revelation, snapping up to meet his cool, grey stare.

“Before the day you killed Voldemort?” she asks warily.

Draco scoffs. “What? No, before we met that time at Hogwarts. When I killed Gibbon for you.”

“Excuse me, _what_?”

The blonde eyes her carefully. “It's been a long time in the making. I wish I could have told you all those times when you asked, but everything had to moved into place first.”

“Can you tell me everything now?” she scowls, planting her hands on her waist.

“Not yet. The only reason you know now is by accident. When the time comes, I will not be the one to tell you. It's not my plan.”

Hermione huffs, moving away from his body to clear her head and absorb the new information.

“Narcissa Malfoy,” she mutters. “This is _all_ her? She _wanted_ you to befriend me? But why? She voluntarily chose _me_ to be part of her plan? What could I possibly give her?”

Draco shrugs, pushing his hands into his pockets as he leans against the wall casually. “You can ask her when she comes by to speak to you.”

“I will do no such thing,” she hisses, cringing at the very thought. “She is as intimidating as Aphrodite and Athena combined.”

Draco seems to be pleased at the comparison and he shakes his head with a rueful laugh. “True. She won't come by for some time anyway. I have a feeling she'll send word through someone else for our next move. Let's hope Theo will be up and moving when that time comes. And also that the golden duo stay out of our way.”

Hermione doesn't want to agree but she understands. Harry is too big of a target and would attract way too much attention, but it doesn't mean she won't keep in contact with him. Draco might have money, a network of spies and powerful, foreign allies, but her friends single handedly defeated Dark Forces while they were _schooling_ so she won't turn her back on them and ignore their potential.

When she glances back at Draco he’s looking at her with barely concealed emotion, thick lust clouding his otherwise sharp eyes. She gulps lightly and straightens her shoulders.

“Do you want to stay?” she ventures. “For a while.”

He smiles again, ruefully, brushing a hand through her hair and leaning in to drop a kiss against her forehead.

“You should sleep,” he evades gently, sidestepping her with a glance of longing that is covered quickly with a smirk. “Busy days ahead.”

She tries not to let his dismissal get to her. She isn't the one who has to sleep with a hard on, anyway. The fleeting thought makes her bite her lip and the memory of him against her body makes the rest of her quiver.

“Night, Granger,” he says as he eases himself out the door.

“Night, Draco,” she hums as innocently as she can manage. “Dream of me.”

She nearly laughs out loud as the door shuts on the blush that steals across his look of surprise, the sound almost masking his wrangled groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What parts of the world do you guys hail from? I'm posting this at midnight where I am. Was just randomly wondering if any of you guys would be having lunch rn or waking up or something I dunno lmao  
> Wild thought.  
> Happy Wednesday, I guess.
> 
> In the next episode: Hermione has no time for seduction, Draco fights a raging boner and Narcissa just wants grandbabies  
> (I joke, that's what I wish this was. A sitcom romance)


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